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MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 




Florence Howe Hall 



MEMORIES 

GRAVE AND GAY 



BY 

FLORENCE HOWE HALL 



Frontispiece portrait 




Harper i^ Brothers Publishers 
f^ew York and London 












Memories Grave and Gay 



Copyright, 191 8, by Harper & Brothers 

Printed in the United States of America 

Published November, 1918 



\m 29 1918 



Ci.A508307 



TO 

MY SONS AND MY DAUGHTER 

SAMUEL PRESCOTT HALL 

CAROLINE MINTURN BIRCKHEAD 

HENRY MARION HALL 

JOHN HOWE HALL 



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

The author wishes to express her cordial thanks to 
Messrs Houghton and Mifflin for their courtesy in 
allowing her to quote from the "Reminiscences" of 
Julia Ward Howe (published by them in 1899) and 
from "Julia Ward Howe" (pubHshed by them in 19 16). 
She also desires to thank Mrs. Laura E. Richards 
for her kind permission to quote from * ' The Journals 
and Letters of Samuel Gridley Howe " (published by 
Dana Estes & Company in 1906). 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Introductory _ i 

The Romance of Philanthropy Causes the First Meet- 
ing of Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe and Julia Ward. — 
Letter of Congratulation from the Poet Longfellow. — 
The "Chevalier." — The Wedding-tour in Europe. — 
The Eldest Daughter, Julia Romana, Is Born in Rome. 
Why She Was "Mary" and I Was "Martha." 

II. Stories Told Us by Our Parents 4 

The Alarming Three Bears of the Howe Coat-of- 
arms. — Brutality at the Old Boston Latin School. — 
Boyish Mischief. — Papa's Church. — Grandmother Cut- 
ler Rebukes the Biographer of Washington and Ma- 
rion. — Grandfather Ward, His Liberality and His 
Stern Calvinism. 

III. Memories of Early Childhood 12 

The Perkins Institution for the Blind. — South Boston 

in the 'Fifties and 'Sixties. Migratory Habits of the 
Howe Family. — "Cliff House" at Newport. — George 
William Curtis and the Howe Children. — A Children's 
Party at the Longfellow Mansion. — Professor "Stubby" 
Child Plays with Us in the Hay. 

IV. Our Early Literary Activities 30 

The Howe Children Invent a "Patagonian Language," 
Edit a Newspaper The Listener, Write Plays and 
Songs. They Give "Parlor Concerts" and Take Part 

in Tableaux and Private Theatricals. — William Story 
and Thackeray. 

V. Under the Shadow of Byron's Helmet .... 40 
Echoes of the Greek Revolution. — The Enchanted Gar- 
den. — "Green Peace" an International Resort. — Politi- 
cal Exiles. Teach Us Foreign Languages and the 
Love of Freedom. — Louis Kossuth. 

VI. Noted Visitors at "Green Peace" 50 

Charles Sumner and His Brother. — Edwin P. Whipple. 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

— James T. Fields. — Doctor Kane. — Rev. Thomas Starr 
King. — Prof. Cornelius C. Felton. — Arthur Hugh 
Clough. — Frederika Bremer. — Laura Bridgman. 

VII. Young America Goes to School 68 

Our Schools and Teachers. — The South Boston Omni- 
bus. — A Grand School Sleighride. — Memories of the 
Adams Family. — A Picnic on the State House Steps. 

VIII. The Agassizes and Their School 79 

Professor and Mrs. Louis Agassiz. — Prof. Alexander 
Agassiz. — Papanti's Dancing-school. — I Invent Fancy- 
Dances. — We Swim, Skate, and Ride on Horseback. — 
Boston's Purple-glass Windows. 

IX. Edwin Booth and Charlotte Cushman 92 

Why They Did Not Act My Mother's Play, "Hippo- 
lytus."— A Bundle of Old Playbills.— Letters from 
Edwin and Mary Booth. — Mrs. Frances Ann Kemble. 

— Statue of Horace Mann. — My Father Introduces 
Written Examinations into the Public Schools, amid 
Angry Protests from the Masters. 

X. Lawton's Valley, Our Summer Home .... no 
The Beautiful Valley. — The Crawford Children. — 
"Yeller's Day."— "Vaucluse" and the Hazards.— The 
Midshipmen Visit Us. — Dances on Board the Frigate 
Constitution. — Parties in the Valley. — George Ban- 
croft. — A Party at His House. — Rev. Charles T. 
Brooks. 

XI. Anti-Slavery and Civil War Memories 128 

Deep Interest of My Parents in the Anti-Slavery 
Movement and in the Civil War. — We Learn the Evil 

of Compromise. — A Trip to Kansas. — Manners on the 
Mississippi Steamboats. — Fort Sumter Is Attacked. — 
Mother's Poems of the War. — Father's Work on the 
Sanitary Commission. — How the Flag Was Treated at 
Newport. — We Ride in the "Jeff Davis." 
Knitting and Scraping Lint. — Sewing-circles. — Fairs 
for the Army and the Navy. — "The Boatswain's 
Whistle." — Visiting the Camp at Readville. — Governor 
N. P. Banks. — Governor John A. Andrew. — Parade of 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XII. Work for the Soldiers 141 

the Ancient and Honorable Artillery. — Death of Little 
Sammy. — Assassination of Lincoln. — My Father 
Serves on the Freedmen's Commission. 

XIII. The Brighter Side of Life in the Civil War . .155 
How We Derssed and Danced in the 'Sixties. — War 
Prices. — Mrs. Jared Sparks. — Visit of the Russian 
Fleet.— The Brain Club.— Oliver Wendell Holmes.— 
Ralph Waldo Emerson. — William R. Alger. — William ' 
M. Hunt. — "Mamma's Owls," William and Henry 
James. — A Clever Group of Society Women. — A His- 
toric Nose-pulling. 

XIV. Our Labors in Behalf of Crete 180 

Removal to Boylston Place. — W. D. Howells. — Marion 
Crawford as a Boy. — The Romance of a Fire. — The 
Cretan Insurrection. — Sisters Julia and Laura Accom- 
pany Our Parents to Greece. — A Grim Passenger. — 

A Price Is Set on My Father's Head. — Our Cretan 
Sewing-Circle and Concert. — Over-modest Amateurs. — 
The Sumner Bronzes. 

XV. Married Life in New York and New Jersey . . 205 
Nursery Days.— The Family of a New Jersey Com- 
muter. — Sorrows of the Country Housekeeper. — Death 

of My Father. — A Memorial Meeting. — The Story of 
Sister Constance. — A Division of Heirlooms. 

XVI. Reconstructing a New Jersey Village . . . 220 
The Mutual Admiration Society of Scotch Plains. — 

My Husband Becomes a Leader in Local Politics and 
Activities. — The Passing of the Mossbacks. — How We 
Gained a Public Library, a New School-house and a 
New Truck-house. — An Overseer of the Poor with 
Peculiar Methods. 

XVII. 'T Take My Pen in Hand" 233 

Following the Family Tradition. — Demorest's and 
"Jennie June." — Marion Crawford and the Little Green 
Parlor. — Town and Country Club. — Charles Dudley 
Warner. — How I Came to Write about Manners. — 
Life of Laura Bridgman. — Helen Keller at the Perkins 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER PAGE 

Institution. A Luncheon at "Boothden," the Home of 
Edwin Booth. — Joseph Jefferson and William Warren. 

XVIII. Our Children at Home, School, and College 250 
An Attic Fairy. — Our Child Artist Grinds Her Own 
Paints. — Scholarships and Athletics at Harvard Uni- 
versity. — Our Youngest Wins an "H." — American 
Girls' Club in Paris. — Caroline's Pictures Exhibited in 

the New Salon. 

XIX. The Club and Suffrage Movements .... 258 
Enthusiasm of the Pioneer Clubwomen. — Early Con- 
ventions of the General Federation of Women's Clubs. 

— Work as President of New Jersey Woman Suffrage 
Association. — We Visit the Legislature. — Campaign for 
School Suffrage. — Formation of New Leagues. — Lucy 
Stone and Her Baby's Cradle. — Rev. Samuel Smith, 
Author of "America." 

XX. Joys and Sorrows of the Lecturer . . . . . 276 
The Treatment of "Talent." — Visits to New Eng- 
land and to the West. — My Mother's Seventieth Birth- 
day. — The Papeterie Club. — Elizabeth Stewart Phelps. 

— Thomas Nelson Page. 

XXI. Darby and Joan on Their Travels 286 

A Cathedral Pilgrimage. — Visit to a French Country 
House. — Madame Blanc. — Cathedrals of Rheims, 
Chartres, Rouen, Beauvais, Amiens. — English Hospi- 
tality. — Visit to Florence Nightingale. 

XXII. "Wander-Years" 308 

Michael Anagnos, Llis Romantic Yet Practical Career. 
— Death of My Husband. — Return to New York. — My 
Daughter's Exhibitions. — High Bridge, a Quaint Old 
Jersey Town. — Leader Twelfth Assembly District of 
Manhattan. — Suffrage-worker at Newport, Rhode 
Island. — The Delights of Canvassing and Out-of-door 
Speaking. 

XXIII. Unto the Third and Fourth Generation . . 332 
My Mother's Beautiful Old Age. — How It Feels to be 

an Ancestor. — Grandmotherhood in the Twentieth Cen- 
tury. — Keeping Alive the Sacred Fires of Noble Tra- 
dition. — Handing on the Lighted Torch. 



FOREWORD 

It has been a pleasure for me to recall, at the kind 
request of the Messrs. Harper & Brothers, the memo- 
ries of a lifetime, even though some sad thoughts 
have mingled with the happy ones. So many bright 
shapes have risen out of the past at my bidding that 
the difficulty of selection has been great. Beloved 
faces seem to look out at me and say, "Why did you 
leave me out?" The ghosts of noble deeds, the 
memories of stirring scenes sweep softly by me, mur- 
muring: "Are we not worthy of mention?" 

Indeed and indeed you are, bright spirits of the 
past and of the present also, but in my small mosaic 
all the precious stones would not fit. 

For the rest, if the store of my childhood's early 
memories seems to be unduly large, it must be whis- 
pered that when, some twenty-five years ago, I began 
to record my reminiscences, a good fairy, my mother, 
helped me. 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 



MEMORIES 

GR^FE ^ND GAY 



INTRODUCTORY 

The Romance of Philanthropy Causes the First Meeting of Dr. 
Samuel Gridley Howe and Julia Ward. — Letter of Con- 
gratulation from the Poet Longfellow. — The "Chevalier." — 
The Wedding-tour in Europe. — The Eldest Daughter^ JuHa 
Romana, Is Born in Rome. — Why She Was "Mary" and I 
Was "Martha." 

THOSE stern censors, Time and Space, forbid my 
giving an account of the early lives of my par- 
ents. Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe and Mrs. Julia Ward 
Howe, since these have been already described in their 
respective biographies and in my mother^ s Reminis- 
cences. Suffice it to say here that at the time of his 
marriage my father was already known on both sides 
of the Atlantic on account of his services in the Greek 
Revolution, as well as for his work for the blind. As 
"Surgeon-in-chief of the Fleet," soldier, and almoner 
of America's bounty, had he aided the Greeks in their 
long struggle with the barbarous Turks. The King 
of Greece made him a Knight of St. George, a title 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

which he himself never used. But his intimate 
friends, fellow-members of the "Five of Clubs" — 
Longfellow, Charles Sumner, Prof. Cornelius C. 
Felton and George S. Hilliard — called him "Cheva- 
lier," which my mother abbreviated to "Chev." 

It was the Ward sisters^ interest in his famous pupil, 
Laura Bridgman, the blind deaf-mute, which brought 
about the first meeting of my parents, Charles Sumner 
and the poet driving the young ladies to the Institu- 
tion for the Blind. In the following winter, 1842-43, 
Doctor Howe and Julia Ward became engaged, their 
marriage taking place in April, 1843. Longfellow's 
beautiful letter of congratulation addressed to the 
"Chevalier" has been published elsewhere. I am glad 
to be able to give the one he wrote to our mother's 
"Brother Sam." 

Cambridge, March 6, 1843. 

My Dear Sam, — I ought to have written you long ago on the 
great event of our brave Chevalier's conquering the Celestial 
City; but I have been away from home, and have moreover 
been hoping to see you here, and expecting to hear from you. 
The event did not surprise me; for the Chevalier is a mighty 
man of Love, and I noted that on the walls of the citadel 
(Julia's cheeks) first the white flag would be displayed, and 
anon the red, and then again the white. The citadel could not 
have surrendered to a braver, better or more humane Knight. 

Seriously, my dear Sam, and most sincerely do I rejoice in 
this event. Julia could not have chosen more wisely — nor the 
Doctor so wisely; and I think you may safely look forward to 
a serene and happy life for your sister. And so God' speed 
them upon Life's journey: "To the one be contenting enjoy- 
ments of his auspicious desires ; to the other, a happy attend- 
ance of her chosen muses." 

I write you a very short note this morning, because I am 

2 



INTRODUCTORY 

going down to hear Sumnerius lecture in the Law School, 
on Ambassadors, Consuls, Peace & War, and other matters of 
International Law. 

Write me soon — as soon as you can; and say that you are 
coming to Cambridge erelong. Life is short. We meet not 
often; and I am most sincerely, 

Henry W. Longfellow. 

My mother has described in her Reminiscences the 
wonderful wedding-tour in Europe. In Rome, her 
eldest daughter, Julia Romana, was born. She fancied 
she saw, in the baby's radiant little face, a reflection of 
the beautiful forms and faces she had so earnestly con- 
templated before the child's coming. Other people 
saw it there in after-years. The exaltation of her 
mother's spirit deeply influenced the mind and char- 
acter of sister Julia, "the first-born daughter of a 
hero's heart." She was so unworldly that she did 
not know what worldliness was. Her lovely face 
and rapt upward look have, fortunately, been pre- 
served by the pencil of our uncle, Luther Terry. 

After a year and a half in Europe my parents re- 
turned to America. The European travel had been 
by post, in their own carriage. The tour had been 
expensive and economy was for a time necessary. 
My mother accordingly did some clerical work, thus 
earning the money for my baby-clothes. 

I soon evinced a practical turn of mind, very 
different from that of my sister. The tendency to 
economy with which the family have sometimes re- 
proached me is due, as I believe, to pre-natal in- 
fluences. Perhaps it is also an inheritance from 
French ancestors! 

3 



II 



STORIES TOLD US BY OUR PARENTS 

The Alarming Three Bears of the Howe Coat-of-arms. — Brutal' 
ity at the Old Boston Latin School. — Boyish Mischief. — 
Papa's Church. — Grandmother Cutler Rebukes Wemyss, the 
Biographer of Washington and Marion. — Grandfather Ward, 
His Liberality and His Stern Calvinism. 

SOME one has said that it is hard to Hve under the 
shadow of a great name. It has been my great 
privilege and happiness to Hve, not under the shadow, 
but in the Hght of two honored names, those of my 
father and mother. They were honored and beloved 
because of their own love for and service to their 
fellow-men. 

My father was nearly eighteen years older than 
my mother. He had had the responsibility and care 
of his young blind pupils for ten years before his 
marriage. Hence he was well fitted to take an active 
part in our training, especially as he dearly loved 
children. The absence in Europe, for more than a 
year, of my mother and the two younger children, 
Harry and Laura, brought Julia and myself under his 
care when we were respectively five and six years 
old. We thus early formed the habit of close com- 
panionship with him, to which, as the elder, we had 
special claim. Indeed, we all followed him about to 
such a degree that he once exclaimed jestingly, "Why, 

4 



STORIES TOLD US BY OUR PARENTS 

if I went and sat in the bam I believe you children 
would all follow me !" 

The housekeeper who was with us in these early- 
years would sometimes say, "You do not know what 
a good father you have." Of course we did not. We 
knew that "Papa" made us his companions whenever 
he could possibly do so. We knew that as "a good 
physician" he bound up our small wounds and cared 
for us when we were sick. We knew that if we did 
wrong we must expect his firm yet gentle rebuke. 
Did he not tell me about a naughty little devil I had 
swallowed, bidding me open my mouth so that he 
could get hold of its tail and pull it out ? Lessons of 
thrift and generosity he early inculcated. We re- 
ceived a penny for every horseshoe and for every 
pound of old iron we picked up about the place. 

He constantly sent, by our hands, gifts of the de- 
licious fruit of the garden to our schoolmates and to 
the blind children. 

When our mother played the most delightful tunes 
for us to dance. Papa would join in the revels, occa- 
sionally pleading "a bone in his leg" as an excuse for 
stopping. Together they planned and carried out all 
sorts of schemes for our amusement and that of our 
little friends. 

When, at a child's party in midwinter, fireworks 
suddenly appeared outside the parlor window, the 
great kindness of our parents in doing so much for 
our amusement began to dawn upon my childish mind. 
Indeed, the Howe juvenile parties were thought very 
delightful by others besides ourselves. 

Our parents told us stories of their youth, in which 

5 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

we were greatly interested. My father must have 
been a very small boy when he was alarmed by the 
Howe coat of arms — three bears with their tongues 
out. I fancy he came across this vision in the attic 
and that it was banished there by Grandfather Howe, 
who was a true Democrat. 

Father also told us that the family was supposed 
to be related to that of Lord Howe. I find the same 
statement made in Farmer's genealogy of the de- 
scendants of "John Howe of Watertown freeman 
1640, son of John Howe of HodinhuU Warwick- 
shire.'^ 

Anecdotes of his school-days showed that my 
father, despite his feelings in the presence of the three 
bears, was a very courageous boy. At Latin School 
the master whipped him for some small fault, but 
could not succeed in his amiable intention of making 
the child cry, "though he whipped my hand almost 
to jelly."- His Federalist schoolmates were as brutal 
as their master. Because Sam Howe, almost the only 
Democrat in school, refused to abandon his princi- 
ples, they threw him downstairs. 

Grandfather Howe lost a great deal of money by 
the failure of the United States government to 
pay him for the ropes and cordage which he, 
as a patriotic Democrat, supplied to them in large 
quantities during the War of 1812. Hence, when 
his son went to college, young Sam Howe helped to 
pay his way by teaching school in vacation. The 
country lads, some of whom were bigger than he, 
thought they could get the better of the new school- 
master. He restored order by the simple but some- 



STORIES TOLD US BY OUR PARENTS 

times necessary process of knocking down the 
ringleader. The handsome young collegian found 
more difficulty in managing the girls ! 

He must have been very young when he assured 
his sister that the pump had a very agreeable taste 
on a frosty morning. The confiding girl followed 
his suggestion, but found it difficult to remove her 
tongue from the cold iron. 

Among his many pranks at college, the most orig- 
inal was a nocturnal visit to a fellow-collegian who 
had a store of good things in his room. "Sam" Howe 
entered the window as a ghost and carried off a tur- 
key. When the unfortunate owner of the feast waked 
up and looked out of the window, he saw a dim white 
figure rising in the air. Later on, the bones of the 
bird neatly picked were laid in front of his door. 
The boy was greatly worried and fully convinced that 
some supernatural being had visited his room. The 
affair so preyed on his mind that his fellow-students 
finally explained the joke. 

Strange to say, my father did not have much pa- 
tience with his son when brother Harry displayed at 
Harvard the same kind of mischievous ingenuity. 
They had both inherited this quality from Grand- 
father Howe if we may judge by the following story. 

Having promised to pay Sammy a penny for every 
rat he caught, the old gentleman surreptitiously 
withdrew the rodents from the trap. But Sammy was 
quite equal to the occasion. He parried by making 
the same animal serve for several mornings, until his 
father exclaimed, "Sammy, that rat begins to smell !" 

Grandfather Howe was very fond of building, a 

7 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

taste inherited by his descendants. When there was 
a question of his erecting a house on her property, 
his second wife said to him, "But your children would 
never permit it." The old gentleman's wavering re- 
solve at once became fixed. He had no notion of lis- 
tening to dictation from his sons and daughters. So 
he built the house, which, of course, became the prop- 
erty of our step-grandmother and went ultimately to 
her heirs, instead of to his own descendants, the 
Howes. 

My father always cherished the memory of his own 
mother, Patty Gridley, who was a very beautiful 
woman, of a lovely and sympathetic nature. 

He liked to see his daughters sitting at their needle- 
work. "It reminds me of my mother," he would say. 
He could not bear to see bread wasted, because of 
her early teachings of thrift. On the top of his 
father's house, there had been a cask or vat into 
which th^ lees of wine were throv^^n and left to fer- 
ment into vinegar. 

With our mother, also, we had a delightful com^ 
radeship. Having been brought up with undue strict- 
ness herself, she resolved that her children should 
not suffer in the same way. Hence we had a happy 
familiarity with our parents; yet we felt their su- 
periority to ourselves. Mother taught us many 
things, after the fashion of mothers — lessons in the 
conduct of life and in social observance, of course; 
To be considerate of others, to enjoy small and sim- 
ple pleasures, to take good things in moderation — 
these were a part of her philosophy. If we made a 
noise after the baby was asleep, we instantly heard 

8 



STORIES TOLD US BY OUR PARENTS 

her whispered warning, "Hush!" Indeed, it was an 
offense in her eyes to disturb any one^s rest. 

Her efforts to teach us punctuaHty were not alto- 
gether successful. There were dreadful moments 
when sister Julia and I were so late in dressing for 
a party that Mamma would be reduced almost to de- 
spair. Sister Laura saw these things and, being a 
wise little maiden, resolved that when her turn came 
to go into society she would be punctual. She carried 
out her resolution. 

When we were old enough, our mother took us 
to the Church of the Disciples, by my father's desire. 
He himself went only occasionally, but then Papa had 
a church of his own, which we sometimes attended. 
In the great hall of the Institution for the Blind, 
he held at six o'clock every morning a brief ser- 
vice for the pupils. The deep reverence of his 
voice as he read a lesson from the Bible, the sol- 
emn tones of the organ, the sweetness and beauty of 
the fresh young voices as the blind larks suddenly 
burst forth into their morning hymn of praise, were 
things never to be forgotten. Truly Papa's church 
was not like any other ! 

Many stories of her young days we heard from our 
mother. They were different in many ways from our 
own happy and athletic childhood. It is true that, like 
ourselves, she belonged to a family of six brothers 
and sisters, who had merry times together. But the 
great misfortune of losing her mother shadowed her 
young life. Aunt Eliza Cutler (afterward Mrs. 
Francis), who took, as far as she was able, the lat- 
ter's place, was most conscientious in fulfilling her 

9 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

duties. But she was very strict with her young 
charges. Witness the story of the Httle girl whom 
JuHa invited to tea. After this rash act her courage 
completely failed her. She did not dare bring her 
visitor down-stairs, and sat miserably waiting the 
course of events. The delay seemed to her inter- 
minable, but at length a message was sent up, coldly 
inviting *'Miss Ward," as she was called even in 
childhood, to bring her friend down to tea. She 
never repeated the offense. 

Our mother was very fond of her grandmother 
Cutler, who spent the last years of her life under her 
son-in-law's roof. She was a woman of literary- 
tastes as well as of personal charm. The niece of 
General Francis Marion, the "Swamp Fox," Grand- 
ma Cutler possessed a goodly share of spirit. Thus 
when Wemyss, the biographer of Washington and 
Marion, dined at the home of Grandfather Ward, 
Mrs. Cutler took the careless historian to task: 

"Mr. Wemyss, how is it that you say in your Life 
of the General that you have never heard what be- 
came of his sister Esther, my mother ?" 

The old lady was a flaming Huguenot, as her let- 
ters show. 

I fear that, despite the fact that she had been a 
belle in the Revolutionary period, she took snuff. 
Our mother told us that the Ward family carriage 
was in the habit of stopping at "Lorillard's," then a 
small tobacco-shop, to buy great-grandmother's fa- 
vorite brand — this, if I remember aright, was Mac- 
caboy. 

In our mother's story of her early life the dominat- 

10 



STORIES TOLD US BY OUR PARENTS 

ing figure was that of her father, Samuel Ward, the 
third of the name. She fully recognized his great 
affection for his children and his almost painful de- 
sire to shield them from all evil. Evidently to Grand- 
father Ward "the world, the flesh, and the devil" 
were not outworn features of a half -forgotten creed, 
but dreadful realities. He was as liberal in giving 
money to good causes as he was illiberal in his re- 
ligious views. During a period of hard times (per- 
haps in 1837), he suggested to our mother that they 
should take care of the conservatory themselves, 
sending away the gardener. 

"For I will not cut down my charities," quoth 
Grandfather Ward. 

He left a large fortune for those days, but it was 
a good deal diminished by the management of his 
brother, who did not understand real estate. The 
Grange, formerly the property of Alexander Hamil- 
ton, was a part of it. The Ward family desired to 
have this sold to a great-uncle, for the nominal price 
of ten thousand dollars. My father very properly 
protested, yielding in the end, for the sake of peace. 
Some twenty-five years. later it was worth one or two 
million dollars, but the family were unable to hold it 
after the panic of Black Friday, September, 1869. 



Ill 



MEMORIES OF EARLY CHILDHOOD 

The Perkins Institution for the Blind. — South Boston in the 
'Fifties and 'Sixties. — Migratory Habits of the Howe Family. 
— "Cliff House" at Newport. — George William Curtis and 
the Howe Children. — A Children's Party at the Longfellow 
Mansion. — Professor "Stubby" Child Plays with Us in the 
Hay. 

"T REMEMBER, I remember, the house where I 
A was born." Indeed, I can hardly do otherwise, 
for the Perkins Institution for the BHnd was one of 
the landmarks of Boston in the nineteenth century. 
It was also, so to speak, the intermittent home of our 
family for many years. My father bought **Green 
Peace" and moved the family there soon after my 
birth, hence we lived at the Institution only from 
time to time. 

The ''Doctor's" wing of the great building was 
always at his disposal. In the summer, when the 
family were at Newport, he often stayed there. It 
was a refuge to us in time of trouble. Did our city 
house catch fire, or other circumstances make a change 
desirable — presto! we departed, servants and all, for 
the Institution! My brother-in-law, Henry Rich- 
ards, complained mildly during his courtship that no 
notice was given of these intended hegiras. He 
would come to see sister Laura one evening and bid 

12 



MEMORIES OF EARLY CHILDHOOD 

her good-by, with every expectation of calHng on her 
the following day. When, twenty- four hours later, 
he rang the door-bell, there was no response! The 
Howe family had folded their tents, like the Arabs, 
and silently moved over to the Institution. It will be 
judged, from this story, that the Doctor's part was 
fully furnished, save that the halls, like all those in 
the building, had uncarpeted marble floors. For the 
Perkins Institution for the Blind had originally been a 
hotel, the Mount Washington House. 

The building, simple, massive, and dignified, stood 
on a hill commanding a lovely view of Boston Har- 
bor with its many islands. Just behind it rose Dor- 
chester Heights. As children we played among the 
earthworks whence the cannon of Washington's 
army had forced the British to evacuate Boston. We 
did not then know that Col. Richard Gridley, one of 
our ancestors, had planned those fortifications and 
the defenses of Bunker Hill as well. He was a vet- 
eran of the French wars who had "won laurels as 
an accomplished engineer at Louisburg." ^ 

When the Institution for the Blind was moved to 
South Boston, Ward twelve was more highly es- 
teemed as a place of residence than it is now. A 
peninsula connected with the mainland only by Dor- 
chester Neck, it enjoys the full sweep of the famous 
Boston east wind. Hence it is cool in summer, 
and the extended shore gives opportunities for sea- 
bathing. One of the sad memories of my childhood 
is the booming of cannon fired in the hope of bring- 



1 Frothingham's Siege of Boston. 
a 13 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

ing to the surface the bodies of those who had been 
drowned while bathing. 

South Boston has so many natural advantages of 
climate and scenery that it was hoped the city would 
grow in that direction. But the situation has its 
drawbacks. In order to reach Boston proper it is 
necessary either to take a long and circuitous route 
through Dorchester, or else to cross one of the bridges 
which span the harbor. These were, when I can 
first remember, fitted with primitive wooden draw- 
bridges through which vessels seemed always to be 
passing, if one were in a hurry. Boston was at this 
time a seaport in reality as well as in name, the 
wharves filled with shipping. To a child it was alarm- 
ing to see the solid floor of the bridge divide in two 
portions and rise slowly in the air, disclosing an open 
space of water. It diminished very much one's feel- 
ing of security. To be sure, after the vessel had 
finally passed through, and the great wooden jaws 
had again snapped together, a large iron bolt re- 
strained further vagaries on their part. But what 
was to prevent the draw from sinking down under the 
weight of the passing vehicles? Then there were 
legends of adventurous and unfortunate little boys 
who had been caught between the descending jaws. 
If you and your driver were fair-minded persons, 
your carriage took its proper place in the line and 
patiently waited its turn to cross. Despite the warn- 
ing sign, "Keep to the Right as the Law Directs," 
there were people so unfair as to try to form a second 
line and so cross ahead of earlier comers. These we 
regarded with righteous indignation. 

14 



MEMORIES OF EARLY CHILDHOOD 

The neighborhood of the bridges was occupied by 
tenement-houses, making the approach to South Bos- 
ton rather squaHd. The House of Correction and 
other pubHc institutions then estabHshed there les- 
sened the attractiveness of the peninsula. So when 
Boston began to expand in earnest it took the usual 
course of cities and grew toward the west. The 
Back Bay was duly filled in, for the new part of Bos- 
ton is on made ground. My father considered this 
much less wholesome than the original soil. 

In the days of my childhood. South Boston, while 
not a fashionable suburb, counted many substantial 
and fairly well-to-do citizens among its inhabitants. 
Toward the eastern end it was pleasantly open and 
still retained a rural air. At City Point were semi- 
circles of granite, built for the cannon of the Revolu- 
tion. Facing it, with a mile of water stretching 
between, was the grim gray outline of Fort Inde- 
pendence, not yet reduced to innocuous desuetude by 
the changes in methods of warfare. 

As there was already a baby girl, it was hoped that 
I would be a boy. My father was much disappointed 
at my failure to fulfil this hope. He declared that 
the only way to console him would be to name me 
for Florence Nightingale, which was accordingly 
done. This was before the Crimean War had made 
her famous. My parents, however, had spent some 
days at ''Embley," the home of the Nightingale fam- 
ily, while on their wedding-tour. Florence, then a 
young woman of twenty-three, was already turning 
toward her life-work. She consulted my father, as a 
philanthropist of experience, about the propriety of 

15 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

her studying nursing and devoting her Hfe to the 
care of the sick. He, of course, counseled her to do 
so. Ever in advance of his own day and generation, 
he would have had small patience with the people 
who even now consider a nurse as a species of social 
pariah. 

Miss Nightingale corresponded with my parents 
before she had taken up her public work. The beau- 
tiful and devout spirit of her later years, as well as 
an intense interest in the movements in behalf of po- 
litical and religious freedom, is manifest in these early 
letters. Touches of fun remind us that she had a 
happy sense of humor. Throughout the correspond- 
ence we see the great admiration of the young Eng- 
lish gentlewoman for the man whose life was dedi- 
cated to the cause which she longed to take up. 

She thus acknowledged the news of my birth and 
of the decision to name the new baby after her, fore- 
shadowing, also, her own future career. 

Embley, December 26. 
I cannot pretend to express, my dear kind friends, how 
touched and pleased I was by such a remembrance of me as 
that of your child's name. ... If I could live to justify your 
opinion of me, it would have been enough to have lived for, 
and such thoughts as that of your goodness are great thoughts, 
"strong to consume small troubles," which should bear us up 
on the wings of the Eagle, like Guido's Ganymede, up to the 
feet of the God, there to take what work He has for us to do 
for Him. I shall hope to see my little Florence before long 
in this world, but, if not, I trust there is a tie formed between 
us which shall continue in Eternity— if she is like you, I shall 
know her again there, without her body on, perhaps the better 
for not having known her here with it 

16 



MEMORIES OF EARLY CHILDHOOD 

, . . Good-by, my dearest friend, which word I am sure 1 
never say to you without its good old meaning, God be with 
you. You never can tell me enough about yourself, or about 
Dr. Howe's reforms. 

I have no time to be ashamed of myself for writing you 
such a long and barren letter in return — I would write now, 
because, from the day after Christmas Day, for a month, I 
shall not have a moment to myself, except the solemn minute 
of the procession in to dinner, when everybody knows that 
each person may have the full and exclusive possession of his 
or her thoughts to him or herself, till the dogs are fairly 
feeding. 

If I could live to see anything like a Protestant Sisterhood 
of Charity in England "my eyes would indeed have seen His 
salvation," but now I see nothing but a mist, and only hope, 
when the mist clears away, to see something else. 

Pray excuse me — I'm coming back — but only to say this time, 
what I never can express, how very earnestly I am ever your 
loving and grateful Florence. 

Pray give our very kindest remembrances to Dr. Howe — and 
so fare you well, very well, my dear, dear friends. 

In a later letter she writes of the two babies : 

... I often think of your little couple, and imagine what 
they are like, and fancy the curious mixture there must be 
in them. I see them standing in the doorway, looking at me 
with irresolute eyes, and I sit quite still, that they may not go 
away — perhaps the only intercourse that will be permitted me 
with them on earth. It would be a curious speculation (if 
one's acquaintance were but large enough to enable one to 
collect a sufficient number of facts to form a sort of experi- 
ence) to find out what materials in the parents' characters 
kneaded together into what sort of pdte in the children's — and 
the general laws of these admixtures. I wonder, in this diving 
and grubbing age, that people don't make at least rough theo- 
ries about it (there must be some laws, if we could but find 
them out) — beginning with Genesis, where we see that the 
"sons of God" which, I suppose, only means the men great in 

17 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

wisdom and virtue and piety, who led these antediluvian 
females to the Hymeneal altar, who, I am afraid, were pagans 
or at the least something very bad by their being called the 
"daughters of men" we see that their offspring, poor things! 
were strong and violent and restive and whatever else we may 
suppose symbolized under the character of "giants." N. B. — 
This, upon second thoughts, looks like an uncivil apologue, and, 
as I remember, poor Mrs. Fowler got into a scrape by sealing 
a letter once with a wafer on which were two donkeys with 
the motto "When shall we three meet again?" of course imply- 
ing that the receiver of the letter was the third donkey (though 
preserve me from putting you into the same category of souls 
as Mrs. Fowler's correspondent!), yet I must beg to assure 
you that the above is no parable. 

The downfall from the heavens has been so prodigious these 
last three weeks, that the river has been the driest place, and 
standing in it up to one's shoulders the best shelter from the 
rain. Archbishop Whately is practising mesmerism at Dublin 
with a Catholic priest. Miss Martineau's last books are stupid 
— if the revelations of the laws of Nature, which were made to 
her in a state of mesmerism, have found their incarnation in 
her recent Game-law Tales in sea-green covers, I wish her 
"toutes sortes de prosperites et un pen plus de gout" The 
laws of Nature are uncommon dry ones — but I have come to 
the end of my paper, and with all our kindest remembrances 
to Dr. Howe, believe me, dearest Julia, 

Yours till Doomsday i' th' afternoon, 

Florence. 

Florence Nightingale did not content herself with 
sending loving messages to her godchild. Her chris- 
tening-gift — a beautiful edition of Knight's Shake- 
speare — is one of my most treasured possessions. I 
still have also the remains of a bracelet made of her 
hair, with a little golden heart at the clasp. 

In my mother's correspondence with her sisters the 
"babies" are important figures. Maternal affection 

i8 



MEMORIES OF EARLY CHILDHOOD 

represents us in a glorified aspect; nevertheless, it is 
pleasant to have our early virtues and talents recorded 
by her loving hand. A few extracts from her letters 
are given below. 

New York, Oct., 1845- 
To Mrs. Thomas Crawford. 

. . . You complain that no one tells you about Florence. Oh ! 
she is a perfect angel! The little creature lies in my arms all 
night, and makes me too happy. She is the image of our 
dear father— is not that strange? She has his eyes, his brow, 
almost his smile. So strong is the likeness that even Lizzie 
Hogg cried out: "Oh! she is like dear Mr. Ward!" This 
endears her to me very, very much. She was christened in 
our little study at South Boston. No one was present but 
Sumner, [Doctor] Fisher, Wightie, and Laura. The good 
Mr. Burton christened her, and made the service even more 
touching and beautiful than did our friend Parker. I had had 
a very nice cake made at home, iced over and adorned with 
sugar-plum letters. . . . The child has a heavenly disposition, 
and is much more robust than Julia was at her age. . . . 

May 30, '46. 
To Mrs. Crawford. 

. . . For this summer my great themes of interest are Annie's^ 
marriagei and Fofo's teeth. Flossy, as Julia calls her, is as 
healthy a child as one can see. She creeps on the floor all day, 
and can pull herself up by a chair, and stand for a long time, 
though she is just nine months old. ... I confess my spirits 
have risen wonderfully since I left the institution. My little 
corner is so green and pretty, so quiet and hidden from all. I 
have not those dreadful stairs to go up and down, all the rooms 
are so near together. I need not lose sight of the children at 
any time. . . . 

June 17, 1847. 

... I stay at home pretty much all day, and generally all 
the evening, too. I write stories and verses, and when my 



1 My aunt, Anne Eliza Ward, who married Adolphe Mailliard. 

19 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

eyes are tired I paste pictures in the nursery scrap-book, which 
is in great demand. In another year I shall have a governess 
for Julia, who* is getting too big to be left with a servant. 
She and Flossy come on well with their French. . . . 

Nov. 31, '47. 
. . . Yesterday I incautiously used the word devil, and Julia 
said, "Mamma, that is not a pretty word; you had better say 
villain" They are both as lovely as children can be. The little 
one is passionately attached to her sister and cries whenever 
they are separated. . . . 

My father hired a house in Mount Vernon Street, 
in the years 1847-50, and of this I have still some 
recollections.. The most interesting is that of a day 
in February, 1850, when my father carried all his 
three children down-stairs on his back, in a single 
load, to »ee our new little sister. She was later named 
Laura, after my father's noted pupil, Laura Bridg- 
man, and Elizabeth, after his sister. As Mrs. Laura 
E. Richards, author of many nursery rhymes and 
juvenile books, she has since been beloved by sev- 
eral generations of little folk. 

Our brother, Henry Marion Howe, was not quite 
two years old when he came down on his father's 
back to welcome sister Laura into this bustling world. 
Although, on one occasion, when he plunged her into 
the horse-trough, he nearly helped her out of it, they 
were throughout their childhood inseparable friends 
and companions. 

Other memories of those years, 1847-50, relate to 
my earliest school-days. We went to a private school 
near by, kept by a Miss Watson. Paper dolls, made 
or contributed by the older girls, and peach leather 

20 



MEMORIES OF EARLY CHILDHOOD 

loom large in these recollections of school attendance. 
The latter deHcious article of food was a species of 
stiff marmalade prepared in a sheet about half an inch 
thick. This was rolled up tightly, and a piece, which 
was literally a jelly roll, was cut off the end. You 
could not only eat this, but you could first, happy 
thought, uncoil it. In old Southern cook-books the 
receipt for making peach leather can be found. Ours 
came from Professor and Mrs. Lieber, the former 
being at that time connected with Columbia College 
in South Carolina. He has been gratefully remem- 
bered, during the present war, as one of the freedom- 
loving Germans of earlier days. 

Somehow or other I learned to read, for I can re- 
member being conversant with my Reader before I 
was five years old — according to the custom of that 
day. 

In the early summer of 1850 our parents, with the 
younger children, Harry and Laura, sailed for 
Europe. As became a child of New England, I was 
extremely reserved, and it was thought a pleasant 
sign when, as the family were about to depart, I 
wept. Alas ! Investigation revealed that my tears 
were really connected with the little Greek almonds — 
doubtless too few had been allotted to me. In jus- 
tice to myself I must say that on the return, eighteen 
months later, of my mother, brother and sister, I 
found tears of joy in my eyes. 

My eldest sister and I were left in the custody of 
our faithful nurse, Lizzie, and in the care of friends. 
We spent the summer happily at Concord, Massachu- 
setts. Hearing the bells toll one day, we asked the 

91 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

reason, and were told that General Taylor (then 
President of the United States) was dead. 

One happy autumn day there was a cry of, "Papa ! 
Papa!" and we rushed down the street into his arms. 
He could not remain away longer from America, 
owing to his many cares. We were now installed in 
the delightful home "Green Peace," with an efficient 
housekeeper, Mrs. Stanwood, to care for us. 

A sad memory comes back to me out of this 
distant past. On a certain summer day the blind 
pupils and their teachers made an excursion to the 
seaside, sister Julia and I going with them. Nurse 
Lizzie allowed us to go in bathing, but cautioned us 
to hold tightly to a rock whose head rose above the 
water. 

With childish bravado, I let go, calling on the oth- 
ers to look at me. Suddenly a great wave dashed 
over me, but not more quickly than Lizzie, who 
rushed in and dragged me out, all dressed as she was. 
She never recovered from the cold taken that day, 
dying of consumption not long afterward. I must 
have been five or six years old at the time of the 
funeral. I remember seeing the face of the devoted 
nurse lying white and still beneath the glass of the 
coffin. I remember, too, that all knelt on the earth 
around the grave, the service being according to the 
Roman Catholic ritual. 

While "Green Peace" remained our home for many 
years, its situation on the southerly slope of a hill 
made it warm in summer. Accordingly, in 1852 my 
father and the poet Longfellow hired a house on the 
cliffs at Newport, with the understanding that no 



MEMORIES OF EARLY CHILDHOOD 

other boarders should be received except those of 
whom they approved. The company that assembled 
beneath the roof of this early "Cliff House" was 
of a literary turn of mind. Count Gurowski 
nicknamed it "Hotel Rambouillet." A daguerreotype 
is still in existence showing Mr. and Mrs. Longfellow, 
my mother, Mrs. Freeman (wife of the artist), and 
Mr. Thomas Gold Appleton, the noted wit. A broad 
smile pervades the group, doubtless due to the fact 
that in those early days of photography the victims 
were obliged to sit some twenty minutes before the 
camera. 

George William Curtis was among the favored 
few who spent that summer at the "Cliff House." 
He was then a handsome young bachelor who went to 
balls and parties. Alas ! Near his room was the Howe 
nursery, and the children, who took no part in the so- 
cial gaieties of Newport, arose at an early hour. Our 
noise and that of our portable tin bath-tub sadly dis- 
turbed the morning sliunbers of the "Howadji." 

I was a little girl of an independent turn of mind 
and objected decidedly to being kissed. Some of 
the gentlemen thought this very amusing in a child 
of barely seven, and delighted in teasing me. To 
enter or leave the house was a feat of daring, for the 
enemy might be lurking in the shadow of the hall, 
ready to catch me. Once, at least, I was seized and 

held up in the air by a Mr. G . "Now I've got 

you !" he exclaimed. He was soon glad to put down 
a very irate and struggling little girl. The foolish 
custom of kissing children indiscriminately has hap- 
pily gone out of fashion. 

23 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Another sad memory of that summer rises before 
me. I see on the lawn of "Cliff House"' my silver 
mug, with a deep wound in its side. One of the gen- 
tlemen, espying it in the grass, took it for a pewter 
vessel and obligingly discharged his pistol at it. 

The Longfellow boys, Charles and Ernest, who 
were of nearly the same age as sister Julia and I, 
were our pleasant playfellows. Speculating on their 
father's height, they declared that he ought to be 
called Mr. Short fellow rather than Mr. Longfellow. 
I do not so well recall his appearance at the "Cliff 
House," but a year or so later he emerges from my 
childish recollections as an alert, slender and rather 
short man, with a cheerful expression of countenance 
and remarkably bright blue eyes. My uncle, Samuel 
Ward, declared they were like blue water-lilies. His 
hair was then sandy, with a dash of gray, and his 
sensitive, mouth was not concealed by either beard or 
mustache, for he wore only side-whiskers. 

In those early days he did not, to my thinking, look 
as poetical as in later years. It was customary in 
Boston to speak of him as Professor Longfellow, as 
he then filled the Harvard chair of belles-lettres. His 
predecessor, George L. Ticknor, author of a history 
of Spanish literature, was not well pleased at giving 
up his office. Instead of bequeathing his Spanish 
library to Harvard College, he left it to the Boston 
Public Library, with strict injunctions that the books 
should not be allowed to circulate, lest they should 
fall into the hands of the Cambridge professors. A 
more amiable postulate is that he feared the books 
might be lost. Dr. Joseph Greene Cogswell, the first 

24 



MEMORIES OF EARLY CHILDHOOD 

Astor librarian, administered that foundation on the 
same principle. 

With Mr. Longfellow himself Mr. Ticknor main- 
tained pleasant and friendly relations, as we see by 
the poet's letters. 

I remember very well a charming children's party 
given in the pleasant grounds adjoining the old 
"Craigie House." 

The mansion is Colonial in style, and with its 
wide verandas, has an ample front of more than 
eighty feet. As a child, the interior, with its spacious 
halls and rooms, impressed me more than the exterior. 
The former had an aspect of comfort and of a cer- 
tain elegance which bespoke the refined and scholarly 
tastes of its owner. This was not so common at that 
time as it is now, when interior decoration is so much 
studied. 

Great clumps of sweet-flowered shrubs grew about 
the dear old house, as if longing to shield it from the 
dust and traffic of the wayside. Here blossomed the 
sweetest of old-fashioned spring flowers, the lilac, 
and the starry syringas which were so much more 
fragrant than the modern more showy variety of the 
same flower. 

Mr. Longfellow was an extremely kind and in- 
dulgent father and his boys, like other boys whom 
we have all known, sometimes abused his kindness. 
Across the pleasant memories of the ''Craigie House" 
party lies the shadow of our virtuous indignation at 
the conduct of the boys, who, as he thought, cheated 
us out of our fair share of candy. The calm reflec- 
tion of later years suggests that the spirit of fun and 

25 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

adventure rather than mere rapacity may have in- 
fluenced their conduct. The girls were too young to 
accept their defeat in the true sporting spirit. 

The coveted bonbons were showered upon us from 
a scrabble-bag, to wit, a large, brown-paper bag filled 
with candy and hung above our heads. At some par- 
ties the scrabble-bag also contained raisins and popped 
corn, but at the "Craigie House" I can remember 
only great showers of candy. 

The children were in turn blindfolded, armed with 
a stick, then bidden to advance and bring down the 
contents of the bag with three blows. It was hung 
from the bough of a tree, the bonbons came down 
pellmell upon the grass and we all scrambled for 
them. 

Mr. Longfellow, who must evidently have had as- 
sistants, was most active and energetic; I should be 
afraid to say how many brown-paper bags were hung 
up, a great number of them succumbing in turn to 
our childish onslaughts. 

The boys established a sort of robbers* den, or re- 
treat, in one of the lofty trees of the dear old garden ; 
here they would fly for protection when hard pressed 
by the enemy, returning to the attack when the 
sugar-plums were about to descend. It is but just 
to the Longfellow boys to say that they were usually 
pleasant playfellows. My sister Julia and I had 
many merry times with them before the dreadful 
catastrophe of Mrs. Longfellow^s death threw its 
dark shadow over the household. 

It will be remembered that her thin summer dress 
caught fire while she was making seals to amuse her 

36 



MEMORIES OF EARLY CHILDHOOD 

children. In those days of crinoline such an acci- 
dent was almost certain to end fatally. The hoop- 
skirt was a lire-trap of the most deadly sort. 

For a long time after the tragic death of his wife 
the poet withdrew from all society. 

We saw him occasionally in later years, when the 
gold of his hair had turned to silver. His beautiful 
snow-white hair and beard seemed almost like a halo 
surrounding his poetic face. The blue eyes retained 
their brightness, in spite of advancing years. It was 
always a red-letter day when he accepted an invi- 
tation to dine or spend an evening at our house, al- 
though he was, in the latter part of his life, rather a 
silent guest. But the charm of his presence was great, 
and what he said was, of course, well worth hearing. 

Our mother always remembered his description of 
my sister Julia. In her beautiful young womanhood 
she was often tormented with the ''Howe shyness" 
which seemed to form a slight but impalpable barrier 
between her and the world, until she became so much 
interested in the conversation as to forget herself. 
Mr. Longfellow said of her, "J^^i^ is like a veiled 
Hly." 

A curious myth prevailed at one time about a 
daughter of the poet. The artist who painted a por- 
trait group of the three charming children placed one 
of them in such a position as to conceal both her 
arms. This picture was reproduced in an engraving 
which adorned the walls of many houses. Hence the 
fable arose that one of Mr. Longfellow's daughters 
had no arms. Two ladies were lamenting this fact 
in a Cambridge horse-car when a Harvard professor 

27 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

overheard them. Thinking they would be glad to be 
set right, he addressed them: ''Ladies, I know the 
Longfellow family well, and I am happy to be able to 
tell you that all three of the little girls have the usual 
number of arms." 

Rash is the man who thus seeks to overthrow a 
popular delusion! Drawing herself up, one of the 
ladies replied, "Sir, we have it on the best authority 
that one of Mr. Longfellow's daughters has no 
arms!" 

The children's parties given at Cambridge in the 
days of my childhood were certainly very delightful 
occasions. The old regime, under which distin- 
guished men were chosen as professors at Harvard 
College, still prevailed at that time. When President 
Eliot took office he is said to have chosen men rather 
for their ability as instructors than for their claims 
to literary or scientific distinction. Professor Child, 
well known for his exhaustive collection of ballads, 
doubtless possessed both kinds of merit, since he was 
retained on the Harvard faculty, as I think, through- 
out his life. Generations of students remember him 
as the stern but humorous critic whose caustic com- 
ments stayed the noble current of their rage and with- 
ered many a youthful burst of eloquence with the 
unfeeling remark "spread-eagle." 

From this accustomed severity he would unbend on 
a midsummer afternoon, and frolic about with the 
children as if he had been one of them. Full of 
jokes, fun and nonsense, he was the life and soul of 
a certain merry June day which rises before me out 
of the mist of childish recollections. As he tumbled 



MEMORIES OF EARLY CHILDHOOD 

about in the new-mown hay, among his little friends, 
or sat down on the grass while we gathered about to 
listen to his stories, he seemed to me a very funny 
man. And yet I wondered, with a certain grav- 
ity of imagination peculiar to early childhood, why 
he should bring himself down to our level. Why, 
being a grown man, he should find it amusing to 
tumble in the hay. With his short figure, close-curl- 
ing yellow hair, and decidedly retrousse nose, he cer- 
tainly looked like the genius of comedy; but nothing 
about him seemed to me half so funny as a singular, 
light-colored felt hat which he wore. It was nearly 
as tail as that of the ordinary circus clown and had a 
rounded or dome-shaped crown. Under the skilful 
and amusing manipulation of its owner it certainly 
afforded us a great deal of amusement on that festal 
day. Alas ! In later years he wore just an ordinary 
hat. 



IV 

OUR EARLY LITERARY ACTIVITIES 

The Howe Children Invent a "Patagonian Language," Edit a 
Newspaper, "The Listener," Write Plays and Songs. — They 
Give "Parlor Concerts" and Take Part in Tableaux and 
Private Theatricals. — William Story and Thackeray. 

I HAVE spoken of the Institution for the BHnd as 
our intermittent or occasional home. The autumn 
of 1854 found us estabHshed there for a stay of more 
than a year. 

The Crimean War was then going on, our parents 
being much interested in it. Their sympathies were 
with the AlHes as against Russia, the Httle Howes 
duly reflecting the opinion of their parents. We fol- 
lowed, the course of events in Punch and the Illus- 
trated London News. Indeed, the London Chari- 
vari, with its excellent cartoons by Tenniel, John 
Leech and others, played quite a part in our early 
political education. We duly admired the sprightly 
Lord Palmerston, smiled at funny little Lord John 
Russell perpetually wheeling a reform bill in a peram- 
bulator, and entirely disapproved of "Dizzy" with his 
acrobatic tricks. Although Punch approved of Louis 
Napoleon, ally of England, our parents never did. 
Popular sympathy in America was, if I remember 
aright, on the side of Russia, witness the ballad of 
"Pop Goes the Weasel." 

30 



OUR EARLY LITERARY ACTIVITIES 

Queen Victoria's very sick; 

Napoleon's got the measles ; 
Sebastopol's not taken yet. 

Pop goes the weasel 1 

This song would seem to indicate the prevalence of 
measles at that time. Certain it is that some cases 
developed in the other part of the Institution and the 
five Howe children promptly caught the disease, sister 
Julia becoming very ill. Our mother had a very 
anxious and fatiguing experience. She wrote to her 
sister Annie as follows : 

See that your children get measles young. Baby suffered 
very little. Each older one was worse in proportion to the 
comparative age. Donald ^ has passed the whole week here, 
day and night. 

The delights of convalescence obliterate the mem- 
ories of the sickness itself. "Dip" toast, prunes and 
the reading aloud of the "Leila*' books we found very 
comforting. 

Our literary activities seem to have been greatly 
stimulated at this period, although it must be con- 
fessed that they were principally carried on by sister 
Julia. It was she who wrote the plays that over- 
came our elders with laughter. It was she who, with 
my mother's help, edited The Listener, a weekly pe- 
riodical which chronicled all the doings of family, 
friends and the Stevenson School, touching also upon 
public affairs. Each issue covers four pages of large! 

1 Mrs. McDonald, matron of the School for Idiots, who had 
been nurse and housekeeper for my mother in Rome. 

31 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

letter-paper. Some stories were contributed by our 
friend and schoolmate, Clara Gardner. The occa- 
sional editorials by my mother are in her own beau- 
tiful hand. But the main body of the paper was 
faithfully written by the little editor, in her quaint, 
crabbed, yet legible hand. The birth of our sister 
Maud was thus chronicled by Julia — then ten and a 
half years old: 

Editor's Table 

A very curious little animal lies on the editor's table this 
week. It does not understand the use of cup, plate or spoon, 
yet it feeds itself. It does not know any language, yet it 
makes itself understood. It never bought itself a dress, yet 
it has a whole wardrobe full of clothes. It does not know 
anybody, yet it has plenty of friends. Can you guess what it is? 
It is our little baby sister. 

There were some questionings as to the name to 
be bestowed on the newcomer. My father suggested 
the Greek name of Thyrza, but the good, Anglo- 
Saxon name of Maud was finally and appropriately 
chosen. She was a beautiful baby — indeed, she has 
been beautiful all her life. Sister Julia began another 
editorial in The Listener, some five weeks later, 
apropos of the ceremony of weighing the infant: 

Wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king? George the 
Fourth is said to have expressed himself in this manner when, 
in his last illness, some water gruel was served to him in a 
silver bowl. I wonder whether gruel would taste better out 
of a silver dish, a silver spoon does not seem to add much 
to it. 

Here my mother takes up the thread of the story. 
32 



OiUR EARLY LITERARY ACTIVITIES 

The King had been used to the best of living — probably had 
always had as much plum-cake as he wanted [did you, ever?] 
and so it seemed rather an insult to set water gruel before 
him, even in so rich a bowl. We happened to make the same 
remark as his Majesty, to-day, when we saw our Baby Sister 
weighed in a porcelain dish — she looked so fat and funny. 

In the opinion of Julia and Flossy, at this tender 
age, the only form of marriage offering any romance 
was a fleeing one, so to speak, consummated after 
an elopement. Thus in Julia's tale of Leonora Mayre, 
the hero and heroine run away from England to 
America, where they are married. The sequel is 
decidedly original. Leonora, now Mrs. Clough, re- 
pents deeply the desertion of her parents. She re- 
turns, with her maid but without her husband, to 
England and to her father's house. 

"The next day Mr. Mayre had a serious conversation with 
her. 

" 'Leonora,' he said, 'did you not know that it was very 
wrong to disobey me and run away?' 

"'I did not think so at the time, father. At least I did at 
first. But then I loved Frank so much that I could not help it.* 

" 'I knew, Leonora, that you would not have done it had it 
not been for Mr. Clough.* 

"'Why?* 

" 'Because I knew that you were too good a girl to do such a 
thing.' 

" 'I am not good, father,' said Leonora, 'or I should not have 
been married without your permission.' 

'"Marry? You did not marry Mr. Clough, did you?* 

" 'Yes.' 

"'Oh, Leonora! my child! Is it possible?' said Mr. Mayre. 

"He said no more, but looks were enough. He seemed per- 
fectly distracted. Leonora left the room and went up to her 
own; then, throwing herself on the bed, burst into tears." 

33 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

We are glad to be able to reassure our readers about the 
sequel. Mr. Mayre felt better in half an hour and ultimately 
forgave the erring Frank, who returned from America. He 
argues the case with his angry father-in-law. 

"Frank was perfectly composed, *Mr. Mayre/ said he, in 
answer to the other's angry words, 'you think your daughter 
is good and beautiful and attractive, do you not?' 

" 'Certainly, sir.' 

" 'And you love her very much ?* 

" *0f course.' 

" Well, then, if she has the same charms for others that she 
has for you, can you blame me for loving her?' 

" 'You had a right to love her, but you had no right to marry 
her against my will.' 

" *I don't suppose I had, but you ought to pardon me if I am 
sorry.* 

" 1 have not heard that you were sorry.* 

" 'You now hear it, then. Have I your forgiveness or your 
anger; your daughter or your scorn?' 

" 'My daughter,' said Mr. Mayre, with emphasis, 'for she 
could never have had a better husband.* " 

If "Miss Flossy Howe" did not write for The Lis- 
tener, the editors were, nevertheless, generous enough 
to "figure her" in its pages. Her appearance at sister 
Julians birthday party in the drama of "The Three 
Bears" is thus chronicled by Mamma's faithful pen. 
The Three Bears were acted by my father and sisters 
Julia and Laura : 

The Listener March nth. 

Editor's Table 

A great deal more might have been said about our Birthday 
party. Was not Miss Florence Howe bewitching in the charac- 
ter of "Silverhair" ? Where did Miss F. get so much powdered 

34 



OUR EARLY LITERARY ACTIVITIES 

wig? Does she keep a maid, on purpose to put up her hair 
and powder it, when she plays Silverhair? We know all about 
it, but we won't tell. We know, too, about those three Bears, 
and especially that biggest one with a ferocious and hairy ex- 
pression of countenance. Think of the three real chairs, real 
beds, real bowls of porridge ! Think, too, of a real window for 
Silverhair to jump out of — what's all your empty scene-paint- 
ing to that? If we had wanted a real waterfall for our piece, 
our Papa would have had one for us — that's his way of doing 
things. Every one knows those Bears were real — they could 
have growled a great deal louder, only they did not want to 
frighten the company; and when the performance was over, 
they put on their coats so politely, and went back to their 
menagerie. 

We were so fortunate as to secure Mr. William Story, 
the artist, and his wife, for the title roles of King 
Valoroso and his queen in "The Rose and the Ring." 
According to tradition their daughter Edith was one 
of the children for whom Thackeray wrote the 
story. Certain it is that the portraits of the 
royal pair, drawn by the author himself, look a good 
deal like Mr. and Mrs. Story, due allowance being 
made for caricature. Hence they were able to re- 
produce Thackeray's royal couple with exactitude. 
Mrs. Story wore a very beautiful amethyst necklace 
belonging to my mother. Mabel Lowell, daughter of 
the poet, and I took the parts of the royal children, 
Angelica and Rosalba. 

As for the warming-pan, dear Mrs. George Rus- 
sell, wife of my father's chum, lent hers for the affair. 
It had been a part of her housekeeping outfit, but she 
said to my mother, "You may keep it, as I never use 
it now." It is still in my possession, a pleasant re- 
minder of my first appearance upon any stage, 

35 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

We saw the Storys quite often at this time. One 
evening, when mince pie was set upon the table, my 
father, who was obHged to be extremely careful about 
his diet, remarked : 

"Well, we might as well all die together." 

To which Mr. Story at once replied, "Yes, and 
all dye the same color." 

Puns were not then frowned upon so severely as 
they are now. Thackeray was in Boston during this 
period and the Storys invited us to a children's party 
at which the great man was present. I remember 
him only as a large person in black, with thick gray 
hair, who did his best, I do not doubt, to amuse the 
children. 

Mr. William Story gave us an impersonation of a 
dwarf which was truly delightful. To our immeas- 
urable surprise, we saw this gentleman, suddenly 
shrunk to less than half his natural height. Arrayed 
in a Turkish fez and white garments, with slippers 
and stockings to match, he danced very high, if not 
disposedly, on a table, with many rollings of the eyes 
and gestures of the arms. The explanation of the 
trick was that his hands formed the feet of the dwarf, 
while the arms and hands were furnished by another 
person kneeling behind him. 

To invent a language is a common device of chil- 
dren, who usually content themselves with simply add- 
ing a termination or a prefix to each word. Our 
attempt was more ambitious as we boldly undertook 
to construct an entire language. It is needless to say 
that we did not get very far with our venture. I 
fancy that we chose Patagonian because the account 

36 



OUR EARLY LITERARY ACTIVITIES 

in our geography of the inhabitants of that country — 
large men, imperfectly clothed and very slightly civil- 
ized — appealed to our infant imaginations. Also, 
the land being so remote, it was very unlikely 
that any returned travelers would suddenly speak 
to us in true Patagonian accents and so put us to the 
blush. 

There were to be many irregular verbs, the wise 
Julia counseled, since that would render our task 
easier! Of the surviving fragments of our language, 
it suffices to give two. 

"Bis von snout?" ("Are you well?") 

"Brunk tu touchy snout." ("I am very well.") 

It will be observed that these are reminiscent of 
more than one modem tongue. 

The scope of our language was hardly great enough 
to account for its fame (it has been duly chronicled 
in at least one published volume). Doubtless it was 
the boldness of the venture and the happy choice of 
a name which immortalized the Howe Patagonian 
tongue. 

If Julia shone in the family on account of her lit- 
erary productions. Flossy achieved a certain distinc- 
tion as a musical composer. It must be confessed 
that she produced only one song, consisting of a single 
verse with repetitionary chorus. But did she not 
write out the score, words and music with accom- 
paniment, treble and bass clef being duly marked? 
"Play on the shovel" lies before me now, preserved 
by fond parents during many years. 

The early interest of Florence in financial affairs 
was shown by the arrangements for our concert. 

37 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

From the hothouse at **Green Peace" we procured — 
without charge — flowers which we arranged in tiny- 
bouquets. These were sold to the audience for a 
cent apiece, our friends obhgingly throwing them 
back at us, in token of admiration for our perform- 
ance. By this simple yet remunerative scheme we 
secured both the flowers and the price thereof. Some 
of them were, I hope, given to Miss Ellen Burns, our 
prima donna, on the occasion of her benefit. I had 
often seen, on theatrical bill-boards, the phrase, "Ben- 
efit of So-and-so." This seemed to me a much more 
alluring and attractive word than "Concert." When 
I was informed that this name implied the giving of 
the profits to the beneficiary, I refused, with the hor- 
rid obstinacy of childhood, to accept any such paltry- 
explanation. 

"Play on the shovel," which was much liked, was 
included in the program. Our audience consisted 
principally of the teachers and officers of the Insti- 
tution. They nobly paid one or more pins for their 
seats, according to desirability. 

From all this it will be judged that our musical 
education was already well begun, Mr. Otto Dresel 
being our master. 

I will not say that we regarded him as belonging 
to the same class as the family dentist, because the 
latter we considered a species of ogre. But we duly 
feared and respected Mr. Dresel as a person who 
might at any time stamp his feet or say, with energy, 
"How stupid !" as we no doubt were. 

It now seems to me that he was wonderfully pa- 
tient with us and our little stumbling fingers. For, 

§8 



OUR EARLY LITERARY ACTIVITIES 

like most artists, he was a man of highly nervous 
organization. He was not only one of Boston's lead- 
ing pianists, but a composer of merit. 

Our kind friends, the Bensons and Schlessingers, 
allowed us to take our music lessons at their house 
in Boston, in these early days, thus saving our mas- 
ter the long trip to South Boston. 

A most pleasant eleven-o'clock lunch was provided 
for the little people, to our great joy. 



UNDER THE SHADOW OF BYRON S HELMET 

Echoes of the Greek Revolution. — The Enchanted Garden. — 
"Green Peace" an International Resort. — Political Exiles 
Teach Us Foreign Languages and the Love of Freedom. — 
Louis Kossuth. 

WHILE the Institution for the BHnd was our 
pleasant refuge, our permanent and dearly 
loved home was "Green Peace." 

As you came in the main door of entrance and looked 
down the long hallway of the house you saw directly 
opposite to you Byron's helmet, fitting symbol of the 
man who dwelt there. My father had hung it up, as 
a returned pilgrim did his staff and cockle-hat in the 
olden time, or a warrior his sword and shield. 

True, father had never worn that or any other 
helmet ; unless I am much mistaken, neither had By- 
ron. Yet the noble example and stirring verses of 
the poet had much to do with young Howe's sailing 
for Greece, where for seven long years he helped carry 
out the work which Byron had begun. When, broken 
in health, he at length left ancient Hellas, she was 
once more free ! Thus the helmet reminded those who 
knew, not only of the poet's devotion to the cause for 
which he died, but also of the work of his admirer 
and successor. Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe, the "Cheva- 
lier," as he was called by his intimates. 



THE SHADOW OF BYRON'S HELMET 



In the prison of the Kaiser, 
By the barricades of Seine,i 

in Greece, and later, in slavery-ridden America, had 
he striven for human freedom. 

The helmet not only reminded of past deeds ; it was 
also an incentive to generous efforts in the present. 
My father was deeply interested in all attempts to 
throw off the yoke of kings and welcomed to "Green 
Peace" political exiles and refugees from many coun- 
tries. 

Wherever rise the peoples, 

Wherever sinks a throne, 
The throbbing heart of Freedom finds 

An answer in his own.^ 

Thus it came about that we, the Howe children, were 
brought up under the shadow of Byron's helmet, the 
helmet of the Philhellene. And now, in this time of 
the Great War, all America is thrilling to the magic 
words that we were taught to lisp from the cradle — 
"the cause of humanity,'' "the brotherhood of man!'* 
These phrases that we now hear everywhere seem to 
me wonderful echoes of that far-away time when Kos- 
suth, the Hungarian patriot, was welcomed at "Green 
Peace," as Joifre has been welcomed in New York 
and Boston ! Was not I as a child taught the stirring 
story of William Tell and his resistance to the tyrant 



1 From Whittier's poem, "The Hero," written about Doctor 
Howe. 

41 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Gessler, by one who had himself resisted the tyranny 
of the Austrian emperor? 

The helmet, like some magic helm of romance, was 
a magnet to which all who came to "Green Peace" 
were irresistibly drawn. As for the house itself, it 
had the charm of an old dwelling which has "just 
naturally grown" to suit the needs of the inmates. 
The original cottage dated back to pre-Revolutionary 
days. The old and new parts of the house were con- 
nected by a dining-room looking out on a small con- 
servatory. The carpet of the former was from the 
famous Gobelin looms in France and had belonged 
to Joseph Bonaparte, ex-King of Spain. It was 
woven all in one piece, with a medallion in the 
center showing the profiles of Joseph and his brother, 
the great Napoleon. There were various delightful 
figures in the border — butterflies, owls and dolphins. 
For dancing, that carpet had a special and unique 
charm. 

A third historic object of interest stood in one of 
the drawing-rooms. This was a large and beautiful 
carved cabinet which my father had bought in Avig- 
non while on his wedding-tour. It is said to have 
come from the Pope's palace there, as well as its 
mate, which was kept in our rooms at the Insti- 
tution. 

The estate, as an Englishman would call it, was 
ideally situated on the southern side of a hill which 
sloped gradually down to the waters of Dorchester 
Bay. From the windows we saw not only the sea, 
but, in the distance, beautiful Savin Hill. The Insti- 
tution for the Blind, where my father's work lay, was 

42 



THE SHADOW OF BYRON'S HELMET 

not a quarter of a mile away, yet concealed from our 
view by a portion of Dorchester Heights. 

These were already blasted away, to some extent, 
a steep cut in the hills separating us from the Insti- 
tution. Word once came to my father, sitting at the 
dinner-table of "Green Peace," that the Institution 
was on fire. Without a moment's delay he started 
for the scene of trouble, scrambling in some extraor- 
dinary way down the face of the vertical cliff. The 
feat was made possible by his early experiences when 
he had learned to clamber with the Greek soldiers 
over steep mountains. 

To the west of us was another portion of old Dor- 
chester Heights, then crowned with a reservoir and 
some cannon which were fired on the Fourth of July. 
Thus "Green Peace" lay snugly sheltered among hills, 
connected with the outside world only by a short, tree- 
lined roadway called "Bird's Lane." Yet paved 
streets and the omnibus, though invisible to us, were 
less than a quarter of a mile away. 

"Green Peace" was all a garden, the most delightful 
in the world. The house stood in the center of an 
oval lawn dotted with lilac-bushes and pink-and-white 
hawthorn trees. Near the driveway was the wonder- 
ful Chinese junk, or rocking-boat, capable of holding 
nearly a score of happy children. An arbor-vitae 
hedge separated the house and lawns from the main 
garden, which lay still farther down the hill. Pass- 
ing under an arch of white lilacs, you descended to 
this by a flight of wooden steps. Three tiny trim 
gardens with oval beds and paths all surrounded by 
borders of box belonged, respectively, to Julia, Henry, 

43 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

and myself. We were supposed to care for them 
ourselves, but I fear we never did so. We took an 
honorable pride in our possessions, walked in the 
paths and admired the flowers — but that was all! 
Ours was the aristocratic pose of benevolent owner- 
ship with only vague responsibilities attached. 

Just beyond lay the truly enchanted part of the 
garden, where a captive princess might have passed 
her time happily enough. We were accustomed to 
read in our fairy-stories of the Garden of the Hes- 
perides and other remarkable places where grew 
apples of pure gold and glittering precious stones in 
the form of peaches and plums. But what were these 
cold, stony and thoroughly indigestible objects com- 
pared with the warm, glowing, and luscious fruit of 
"Green Peace" ? Moreover, the magic supply of this 
was inexhaustible. For, after frosts had settled the 
business of the last grapes on the trellis and the last 
lingering apples on the trees, the fruit of the garden 
was by no means exhausted. You had but to peep 
into the shallow drawers in the pear-room to see sup- 
plies of delicious winter pears^ — Easter Beurre's and 
winter Nellis, to say nothing of barrels of glorious 
golden-russet apples. In the center of the garden was 
a sort of shrine to Pomona, consisting of a hothouse 
and bowling-alley, with school-house (later used as a 
pear-room) adjoining. 

There were at least four strawberry-beds filled 
with different varieties of the fruit, also raspberries, 
blackberries, gooseberries of many colors, plums, nec- 
tarines, peaches, apples, quinces, and, last but not least, 
pears. 

44 



THE SHADOW OF BYRON'S HELMET 

Of the last-named fruit my father was especially 
fond. He cultivated with the greatest care many 
varieties of these. In recent years \ have learned 
that the delicious French pears for which the neigh- 
borhood of Boston is famous were brought there by 
the French Huguenots. 

Our parents often had bowling parties in our 
childhood, and it amused us to observe the different 
ways in which the players handled the balls. Inex- 
perienced persons would choose a small ball and toss 
it up in the air in a delightfully ridiculous way, 
instead of rolling it swiftly along the floor of the 
alley. I seem to remember Mr. Seguin, the famous 
authority on idiots, thus maneuvering with a small 
ball. My father had brought him to South Boston 
to assist in the work of starting the Massachusetts 
School for Idiots, the first to be established in 
America. 

"The dogs,'* as they were called generically, 
guarded this paradise from urchins over-appreciative 
of the flavor of the celestial fruit. The backbone of 
this canine police force was a very large and not thor- 
oughly amiable Newfoundland dog^ named Arthur. 
An enemy dog called Lion lived in Boston, and would 
occasionally cross the bridge and take a two-mile trot 
over to "Green Peace" to try conclusions with Arthur. 
A battle royal would thereupon ensue, the gardener 
and my father or another employee each holding one 
of the combatants by the tail and belaboring him until 
he consented to let go of his enemy. We watched the 
encounter from a respectful distance. 

It has been said that visitors were always inter- 

4 45 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

ested in Byron's helmet. They sometimes tried to put 
it on, but seldom succeeded. The poet, it will be re- 
membered, had a very small though beautiful head. 
Sister Laura was the only one of the Howe family 
who could wear it. She and sister Julia were the 
most poetical of the children. A tintype is still in 
existence showing the former, at the age of fourteen, 
crowned with the Byron helmet, her long hair flowing 
over her shoulders. 

The Greek War of Independence (1822-29) was a 
comparatively recent event in the 'fifties, and people 
often spoke of it and of the Philhellenes. My father 
looked much younger than he really was, and occa- 
sionally, when asked about his share in the struggle, 
he would jestingly say, *'0h, it was my father who 
fought in Greece." His children knew something of 
this early career, but he never told us of his deeds 
of heroism. That would have seemed too much like 
boasting for a reserved New-Englander. 

If we complained of the food, he would sometimes 
remind us that we should be grateful for it and tell 
us of the strange articles which had constituted the 
diet of his companions and himself. 

Roasted wasps did not sound very attractive, even 
after the removal of the stings. As for sorrel, we 
used to sample the plants which grew wild — always 
pitying poor Papa for having been obliged to eat such 
sour stuff. We could well imagine how tough don- 
key's flesh might be, from our encounter with our own 
Jose, whose back and sides appeared to be made of 
iron. 

Of the primitive ways and ideas of the Greeks at 
46 



THE SHADOW OF BYRON'S HELMET 

that time he would occasionally tell us. Great was 
their astonishment because he could remove one of 
his teeth and replace it. Wheeled vehicles were un- 
known, and one constructed by his faithful follower 
(a man whose life my father had saved) caused much 
surprise. As for tea, if you invited a Greek to par- 
take of a cup he would reply, "No, thank you, I am 
not sick.'' 

A great many people of all sorts and kinds came to 
"Green Peace." All European travelers of note 
wished to see Laura Bridgman, the Helen Keller of 
the nineteenth century, and the man who had brought 
her into the human fold. While my father did not 
cross the seas to take part in European revolutions 
after 1832 until the Cretan uprising of 1867, he was, 
of course, deeply interested in them and in their pro- 
moters. Thus when the Hungarian patriot, Louis 
Kossuth, came to America to try to enlist the sym- 
pathies of our countrymen in his projects, my father 
saw a great deal of him and helped in his plans as 
much as possible. 

By Kossuth's desire, the committee in charge ap- 
pointed my father as the person to whom "he could 
reveal in confidence so much of his plans and pros- 
pects as would show there was reason for hope and 
for immediate action." He greatly impressed Doctor 
Howe who wrote to Charles Sumner, "Surely he is 
an inspired man." 

I can remember the Hungarian patriot standing 
with many other men, doubtless his suite, in the hall 
where hung Byron's helmet. My childish imagina- 
tion was much exercised about the Kossuth hat, which 

47 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

I heard talked about. This was of black felt, high 
and of Alpine shape. I was greatly disappointed 
because the sober citizens of Boston did not adopt 
the little black feather as well as the Kossuth hat ! 

Lowell, Longfellow, Theodore Parker, George 
Sumner, George S. Hillard, and Miss Catharine Sedg- 
wick were among the guests on this occasion. Laura 
Bridgman was brought in after dinner. All were so 
much interested in her, and in the Hungarian pa- 
triot's story of his cause, that teatime presently ar- 
rived and my mother entertained them with the rem- 
nants of the ear Her feast! 

Many of the foreigners who came to "Green 
Peace" were political refugees — Poles, Austrians, 
Hungarians. There were, of course, many Greeks 
also. One of my father's self-imposed duties was 
finding employment for these people, who naturally 
were quite helpless in a strange land. Thus many of 
our early teachers and governesses were foreigners. 
We grew up in an international atmosphere less com- 
mon in those early days than now. Professor Fiester, 
doubtless a very learned Austrian, gave us some rudi- 
mentary lessons in Latin and German. He was a 
very stout, large man, with fair, curly hair and gold 
spectacles. Some one nicknamed him "the mastodon 
calf." He understood perfectly how to amuse chil- 
dren, and made us the most fascinating fly-houses 
and other paper objects. It is evident that I was a 
naughty child and quite determined to have my own 
way. One morning the patience of our gentle master 
came to an end. 

"No, Mees !" he exclaimed. "I haf refused to opey 
48 



THE SHADOW OF BYRON'S HELMET 

the Emperor of Austria, and do you think I will opey 
you, you little thing?" 

I was about eight years old when I was thus classed 
with the Hapsburg tyrant of the day ! 

One of our early teachers, Jules M , had de- 
serted from the French army. The family of his 
Greek wife had aided him in some way, and he 
married her, out of gratitude. Of course they found 
their way, like other foreigners, to my father's office 
in Boston, No. 20 Bromfield Street. As neither of 
them could speak the other's language, he interpreted 
between husband and wife when they got into dif- 
ficulties. She wore an embroidered cap on the back 
of her head, with her hair braided outside of it. 

M was of the blond French type, with a mili- 
tary air. It was his soldierly training, doubtless, 
which caused him to ring the door-bell in a very de- 
cided way, and then, without waiting for the maid 
to answer it, open the door himself and march 
straight into the parlor. This gave me an injured 
feeling, for I was apt to be late, and counted on those 
few minutes in which he should have waited, to get 
ready. 

He wrote a beautiful copper-plate hand and was a 
good teacher. With a military desire to see every- 
thing in good order, he one day informed me that 
my stockings needed pulling up. This was more than 
the dignity of my nine years could brook, and I made 
no reply. He repeated his observation several times, 
but in vain! The peer of the Emperor of Austria 
was not going to yield to a deserter from the French 
army! 

49 



VI 



Charles Sumner and His Brother George. — Edwin P. Whipple. 
James T. Fields. — Doctor Kane. — Rev. Thomas Starr King. 
— Prof. Cornelius C. Felton. — Arthur Hugh Clough.^— 
Frederika Bremer. — Laura Bridgman. 

AMONG those who came to "Green Peace" was 
Charles Sumner, my father's most intimate 
friend. The great Massachusetts Senator towered 
above his fellow-men physically as well as intellectu- 
ally. He was a man of noble proportions, and his 
great height and size seemed to correspond with 
entire fitness to his massive brain and solid mental 
acquirements. The great dignity of his character and 
manner made him seem even larger than he really 
was, I cannot give his exact height, but it was at 
least six feet two inches. Brother Harry once said 
to our younger sister: 

"There are two kinds of giants, Laura. There are 
the ogres who eat people up, and there are the harm- 
less giants. Now Mr. Sumner is a harmless giant!" 

He was a handsome man, always well dressed and 
scrupulously exact about his personal appearance. 
When I first remember him he usually wore drab- 
cloth gaiters with white-pearl buttons, which gave 
him a look of immaculate neatness. Yet we know he 

50 



NOTED VISITORS AT "GREEN PEACE'' 

was not a dandy, because Mr. Longfellow tells us so. 
A large man — who is necessarily the target for many 
eyes — should certainly be careful about his appear- 
ance. Six feet three with breadth in proportion 
would make a large area of untidiness sad to con- 
template ! We children, as I have said, considered 
him as a good-natured giant, but he was not familiar 
with little people and their ways. We did not have 
much intercourse with him, save from an admiring 
distance. But he well understood that children like 
presents. He brought two dolls for Julia and Flossy 
from the anti-slavery fair. I am ashamed to say 
that, although the younger, I insisted on having the 
beautiful wax doll dressed in white with "Effie" 
marked on her handkerchief ! Julia received the com- 
panion doll, dressed in black as a nun. She did not 
compare with Effie in beauty. 

On a certain evening, as he was going out of the 
front door of "Green Peace," I valiantly called out 
to him, "Good night, Mr. Sumner." And a 
great voice answered me out of the darkness, "Good 
night J child T He was very careful and exact 
in his use of English, as became a man of scholarly 
attainments, and did not like to have other people take 
liberties with our mother-tongue. Thus he rebuked 
our governess for saying that the clock was out of 
kilter. There was no such word as kilter, he averred, 
in the English language. Miss Seegar was rather 
indignant at being forbidden the use of this quaint 
Yankee expression; after Mr. Sumner had gone she 
took down the dictionary and found that kilter was 
duly recorded there ! 

5? 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

It is evidently one of the many so-called American- 
isms which are, in reality, words formerly used in 
England. 

He once went away from a party at our house 
without taking leave of any one. My mother was 
rather troubled at this, and my father, who had 
known Mr. Sumner long and intimately, said, "Why, 
that is Sumner's idea of taking French leave." 
Whereupon sister Julia observed, "1 should as soon 
think of an elephant walking incognito down Broad- 
way as of Mr. Sumner's taking French leave without 
being observed." 

Of the attack upon him in the Senate I shall speak 
later. Suffice it to say here that the intense and pro- 
longed physical suffering caused by this murderous 
assault was not the only form of political martyr- 
dom which he was destined to endure. 

The aristocratic element of Boston was, in ante- 
bellum days, strongly opposed to anti-slavery doc- 
trines and those who held them. Charles Sumner's 
heroic defense of the principles of Hberty gained for 
him social ostracism in his native city. This never 
fell upon my father, whose work for the public 
schools, for the blind, the idiots, the insane, and 
other unfortunates, insured him the cordial good-will 
of the community, in spite of his anti-slavery activi- 
ties. It should also be remembered that he did not, 
Hke his friend, hold political office. It is sad to recall 
the unkind treatment of Sumner; it is pleasanter to 
remember that in his later years the great Senator 
was fully appreciated and honored in the city of his 
birth. 



NOTED VISITORS AT ''GREEN PEACE'' 

Charles Sumner had not what is called social tal- 
ent, and I do not think that he cared much for society. 
His busy life of constant political activity did not 
leave him much leisure, and his tastes were those of a 
scholar and lover of books. 

As he grew older and busier he had less time to 
devote to social functions. But he would show his 
interest and sympathy on all great festive occasions 
in the families of his intimate friends by making his 
appearance among the guests, even though he seldom 
stayed long. 

The gods were ever wont, however, to make brief 
visits among the children of men — and if Charles 
Sumner stayed only fifteen minutes and said only a 
dozen words, at a wedding or a class-day, we rejoiced 
that he had been there, and his smile brightened the 
feast as much as the sun. His smile was one of rare 
sweetness and beauty; beneath the reserved exterior 
which distinguished him there beat a warm and true 
heart. He had, be it said, beautiful white teeth, and 
my mother remembered with amusement a certain 
dinner in his younger days when he resolutely refused, 
for obvious reasons, to eat huckleberry pie. 

The reserve and apparent coldness which we New 
Englanders have inherited from our English fore- 
fathers — and, owing to the severity of the climate, 
have been unable to modify — are often a misfortune 
to their possessor and cause him to be considered as 
unsympathetic, when he is not so in reality. The 
great Massachusetts Senator was a man without 
guile and of an almost childlike simplicity of nature. 
His pocket was constantly picked, literally as well as 

5^ 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

figuratively. He would go to the station to start for 
Washington, and, presto! his pocketbook would be 
gone. At fairs, he was an easy victim — and at the 
great fair held in Boston, for the benefit of the sailors 
of the navy, I should be afraid to say in how many 
raffles he was induced to invest. My contemporaries 
will remember that we had not then discovered the 
wickedness of raffles. To have them prohibited by 
law is a great protection to the modern purse. 

While no one could attack a political enemy with 
greater vigor than Charles Sumner, he seldom bore 
personal malice or ill-will. He met in the street, one 
day, a gentleman, Mr. Robert C. Winthrop, whose 
political opinions he had, in the discharge of his pub- 
lic duty, vigorously denounced. He held out his hand, 
and was surprised and pained to have it refused. It 
may be said in Mr. Winthrop's excuse that Mr. Sum- 
ner's action contributed to his being politely shelved ! 

Charles Sumner's conversation was very interest- 
ing and instructive, and he would sometimes pour 
out very freely the treasures of his well-stored mind. 
But while one felt that he was a man of learning, he 
was almost wholly destitute of the sense of humor. 
This is very evident in the correspondence of the 
"Five of Clubs," the other members occasionally mak- 
ing merry at his expense. Who can blame them when 
dear Mr. Sumner, in the innocence of his heart, ad- 
vised his office-boy, a young fellow from the country, 
to visit Mount Auburn, Boston's principal cemetery, 
on the Fourth of July? 

I had the pleasure of hearing him speak in public, 
two hours dX a time, after the political fashion of 

54 



NOTED VISITORS AT ''GREEN PEACE'' 

that day. That as a young girl I was able to listen 
so long proves that the speech must have been inter- 
esting. The following sketch of him as a public 
speaker was given me by my mother : 

"Mr. Sumner was a forcible speaker. His custom 
was to recapitulate the chief points of his discourse, 
with ever-increasing amplification and emphasis. In 
this way he established his points in the minds of 
his hearers, whom he led step by step to his own con- 
clusions. He was majestic in person, habitually re- 
served and rather distant in manner, but sometimes 
unbent to a smile in which the real geniality of his 
soul seemed to shed itself abroad. His voice was 
ringing and melodious, his gestures somewhat con- 
strained, his whole manner, like his matter, weighty 
and full of dignity." 

Among the many interesting men and women who 
were guests in the household of my father and 
mother, none was more amusing than Mr. Edwin P. 
Whipple, author of Character and Characteristic Men 
and well known as a lecturer and essayist. He was a 
homely man, but his homeliness was of an agreeable 
character. He had large and prominent blue eyes, 
which gave him somewhat the appearance of a good- 
natured frog. These eyes seemed to be dancing with 
fun behind his spectacles. As he was also pitted 
with smallpox, he could not be called handsome. 
Nevertheless, Mr. Whipple's face was an attractive 
one, and he had an absurd manner of saying funny 
things which made them doubly amusing. 

I remember a picnic at the "Glen," near Newport, 
where he kept us all laughing by his sallies of wit. H 

55 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

any one else said anything funny on this occasion, 
Mr. Whipple would gravely feel in his waistcoat 
pocket and, drawing thence a dime, would offer it to 
the perpetrator of the joke, saying, "If you'll let me 
have that joke I'll give you ten cents for it." His 
connection with the press gave a realistic flavor to 
this performance. 

On a certain rainy evening, when he and his wife 
were attending one of my mother's parties, Mrs. 
Whipple lingered after the announcement of her car- 
riage. Mr. Whipple came up to her and said, with a 
low bow and in a tone of mock gravity : 

"Madam, stay or go, just as you like, but before 
you make up your mind you should come to the front 
door and listen to your coachman, who is blasphem- 
ing so that he can be heard all the way up and down 
Blank Street." 

Mrs. Whipple was as handsome as her husband 
was plain. She was a decided brunette, with black 
hair and eyes, sweet-tempered and sympathetic, yet 
not wanting in firmness. She must have been of very 
vigorous, physical habit, for, meeting a friend in the 
street, she would grasp her warmly by the hand and 
detain her in conversation longer than the sharp 
Boston east wind rendered agreeable to one of a chilly 
disposition. It was Mrs. Whipple, if I remember 
aright, who once lay in a stupor during an attack of 
smallpox. The doctor, supposing her to be uncon- 
scious, purred gently that she would not recover. 
Aroused by his words, she proceeded to do so. The 
same thing happened to one of the idiots under my 
father's charge during an attack of the same dread 

56 



NOTED VISITORS AT ''GREEN PEACE' 

disease. Three of them lay in the same room, one 
being seriously ill, the others not in so dangerous a 
condition. The first, hearing his companions discuss 
his probable fate, connected with a tarred sheet and 
lowering out of the window, roused himself from his 
lethargy and recovered ! 

Another couple who came often to ''Green Peace" 
were Mr. and Mrs. James T. Fields. When I can 
first remember them the latter was still a young 
woman and very comely. She wore her dark wavy 
hair in puffs at the side, which later expanded to a 
size that was no doubt artistic, but not pleasing to the 
conservative eye of childhood. I did admire, how- 
ever, her beautiful golden net. Mr. Fields was a fine- 
looking man, his long black beard giving him some- 
thing the look of a Jewish prophet. The expression 
of his face was humorous rather than serious, as I 
remember it. I saw him, however, in his lighter 
moods, when he was witty and amusing. The Whip- 
pies and the Fields once made a visit at Lawton's Val- 
ley, our summer home, where the two humorists led 
each other on to say one funny thing after another. 

Mr. Fields told a story of a lady who desired to 
be thought a person of culture, despite the defects in 
her early education. Espying the approaching car- 
riage of certain literary persons, she called out to her 
son: 

"Oh, James ! There are the So-and-sos driving up. 
Do get out the works of Mr. Ensign-Clompedos and 
give the place a litt'ry and conversashioshonary ap- 
pearance !" 

In those days of "high thinking and plain living" 
57 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

it was the pleasant custom, at informal dinners, for 
the host or hostess to peel and cut fruit in slices. 
These were then handed around the table, each person 
taking a piece. I remember a dinner at the Fields' 
house in Charles Street, where red bananas were 
served in this fashion. In my childhood they were 
comparatively rare, costing sometimes fifteen cents 
apiece ! 

As Ticknor & Fields published our mother's writ- 
ings, my sister and I were accustomed to go to their 
well-known corner book-store for our new school- 
books. My delight in these was connected more with 
their appearance than with the stores of knowledge 
they contained. Those fresh, new, clean books with 
their crisp paper well finished at the edges appealed 
to my childish imagination. Did they not preach, too, 
a lesson of neatness ? I am so sorry for the children 
who, at some public schools, are obliged to use old, 
worn books! Why should we not make learning 
attractive by clothing it in a nice fresh dress ? 

Doctor Kane, the Arctic explorer, came at least 
once to "Green Peace." I was so young at the time 
that I thought, on account of his name, he must be 
in some way connected with a cane. A small and 
slender man, he did, as I think, appear with one, and 
so justify my youthful imaginings. I remember a 
dinner in the room with the Gobelin carpet where 
Rev. Thomas Starr King, the noted divine, and his 
handsome wife, were among the guests. Mr. King 
had large white teeth, and wore his brown hair parted 
far on one side. Not long after this time he went to 
the Pacific coast, where his splendid advocacy of the 

58 



NOTED VISITORS AT "GREEN PEACE" 

cause of the Union had a large share in keeping Cali- 
fornia loyal. Alas! He paid the penalty of over- 
exertion with his life soon afterward. But his mem- 
ory is cherished and revered on both shores of our 
great continent. At the East, the everlasting hills 
are his monument, for "Thomas Starr King" is one 
of the peaks of the White Mountain range. 

The following letter to my mother explains itself. 

San Francisco, January 20^ 1862. 

My Dear Mrs. Howe, — How I long to get back into 
civilization, — where they speak the English language, raise regi- 
ments for the war, and write about Lyons looms. ^ 

Do you know why I have the impudence to write to you? 
Simply for your card photograph and the Doctor's and your 
autograph under a copy of the "Weave no more silks." ^ 

You see how modest my requests are. That quality is a 
grace that thrives in California air. 

You ought not to refuse. I am, a missionary and should 
be encouraged by all good Christians. . . . You are patriotic. 
I read your glorious verses to a crowded house in San Fran- 
cisco at a festival for Volunteers, and the spirit so upheld the 
reading that the audience were thrilled. . . . 

Do be gracious ! . . . 

Love to everybody and to you, if you send the cards, etc. ; 
if not, not. 

Conditionally your friend. 
Unconditionally your admirer, 

T. S. King. 

Prof. Cornelius C. Felton has already appeared in 
this eventful history as a member of the "Five of 
Clubs." In addition to being professor of Greek, 
he was for a time president of Harvard College. 

1 A quotation from Mrs. Howe's poem, "Our Orders." 

59 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Among his friends he was genial and jolly, with a 
gift of hearty laughter. ''Heartiest of Greek pro- 
fessors," Charles Dickens called him. He was sturdy 
and thick-set, with close-curling black hair covering 
his round head. At Memorial Hall, Cambridge, there 
is a portrait of him in his robes of office. This pic- 
ture is characterized by due dignity of mien and bear- 
ing, but I like best to think of him with those merry 
eyes gleaming behind his spectacles as his cheery 
laugh broke upon our ears. 

Professor Felton related to us the story of his visit 
to the Maid of Athens, who was no longer young and 
beautiful as in Byron's day. He was much impressed 
by the superior quality of her pickled olives, and told 
us that he longed to repeat the poet's verses, with a 
slight change. Instead of saying, 

Maid of Athens, ere we part 
Give, oh, give me back my heart, 

he wanted to exclaim, 

Maid of Athens, ere we part, 

Give, oh, give me a jar of pickled olives! 

In her correspondence with my father Florence 
Nightingale appeals to him for advice and assistance 
for the martyrs of the cause of progress, political 
and religious. One of the latter was Arthur Hugh 
Clough, the English poet, whom she thus introduced : 

Embley Romsay, Oct. 28 [1852]. 
My dear Dr. Howe, — I have never thanked you for your 
most kind and valuable letter about my friend. But herewith 

60 



NOTED VISITORS AT ''GREEN PEACE'' 

comes my friend in person, to profit by that most kind sentence 
of yours, "Do not fail to give him a letter to me." 

His name is Arthur Hugh Clough, M.A. (late Fellow and 
Tutor of Oriel College, Oxford). He was a favorite pupil of 
Dr. Arnold of Rugby, and was elected Tutor of Oriel at 
twenty-two. He has given up very high prospects, because he 
was unwilling to pledge himself to inculcate the doctrines of 
the English Church. This has stopped his progress in his own 
country. He comes to seek a more impartial mother in yours. 

He is about to marry a very charming cousin of mine — ^but 
his untimely integrity has lessened his means, and he is now 
going to try to make ker a position in the New World. 

He was Professor of English Literature at University Col- 
lege, London. He is a first-rate classical scholar ; he would 
undertake to prepare young men for college who are anxious 
for advanced classical knowledge, and also to teach (or lecture 
upon) English Literature and Language. 

He is known in England as an author and poet, and has been 
a contributor to our more liberal Reviews. 

I have tried to enlist your and Mrs. Howe's sympathies in his 
favour. But, indeed, my dear Dr. Howe, I know your kind- 
ness so well that it seems as if I thought it impossible to 
trespass upon it. . . . 

Believe me, with best love to dear Mrs. Howe and my god- 
child, yours most truly and gratefully, 

Florence Nightingale. 

Mr. Clough made a visit at ''Green Peace" which 
I shall never forget, since it produced one of the small 
tragedies of my childhood. 

Our house was one of those rambling structures, 
built at different periods of time, wherein the space 
is not disposed of to the best advantage. Hence, as 
we were a large family and each of us had a separate 
room, some one had to be turned out in order to ac- 
commodate Mr. Clough. He was accordingly estab- 

s 6i 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

lished in the housekeeper's room, and we children 
were duly warned not to go there, as was our cus- 
tom. But I forgot this caution, and next morning 
turned with some difficulty the old-fashioned brass 
handle of the housekeeper's door and peeped into the 
room. 

Little Red Riding-Hood was not more surprised 
at the transformation of her grandmother into the 
wolf than I was at the sudden change which had 
come over our young and handsome housekeeper. As 
some one sat up in bed (after the fashion of the wolf 
in the story) to ask what I wanted, I said to myself, 

"Why, Mrs. S has grown bald and gray in one 

night !" Then the true state of the case flashed upon 
my infant consciousness and I went away suddenly 
and much abashed. It is to be feared that I left the 
door open. 

When I came down to breakfast Mr. Clough looked 
up and said, as it seemed to me rather cruelly, "I 
think that I have seen this young lady before, this 
morning." 

Mr. Clough's poem, "The Bothie of Toper-na- 
Fuosich," was republished in this country, and was 
widely read both here and in England. He was pres- 
ent at one time where some thoughtless young men 
were amusing themselves with laughing at the new 
aspirant for poetical honors. 

"Who is this old Clough?" says one. 

"I should like to see him," says another. 

After listening to their remarks for some time, the 
grave, quiet man rose to leave the room, and as he 
passed the group who were making so merry at his 

62 



NOTED VISITORS AT ''GREEN PEACE'' 

expense he simply said, "The name is Clough" 
[Cluff]. 

Frederika Bremer, the Swedish authoress, visited 
us when I was a very Httle child. She traveled ex- 
tensively in America and related her experiences 
in Homes of the New World. In this she described 
"the dark, energetic father and two charming little 
girls, all lilies and roses." After it had been trans- 
lated into English, people told us that we had 
been put into a printed book. Our young friends 
wished that they, too, could have the great happiness 
of being put into a book, like Julia and Flossy Howe. 

Miss Bremer gave an account of Mr. George 
Sumner and] his visit to the Czar of Russia, repre- 
senting him as an awkward, ungainly youth and mak- 
ing fun of him. He did carry to the Czar of Russia, 
be it said in passing, an acorn from the grave of 
Washington. The Czar was much pleased and paid 
the young man a good deal of attention. When 
Charles Sumner learned what our young friends had 
said, he mischievously remarked to his brother, 
"Some people would prefer not to have been put in 
a book." 

A number of Frederika Bremer's books have been 
translated into English; we read her stories with 

much pleasure in our school-girl days. The H 

Family, The Neighbors, The Home, are the titles of 
some of them. Her description of Swedish family 
life is delightful. 

George Sumner, like the Senator, was a man of 
intellectual tastes and possessed a wide knowledge of 
books. In mid-Victorian days there was no complete 

63 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

catalogue of the library in the Vatican. Some one in 
Rome who was anxious to find a certain volume was 
referred to "a young American who knows more about 
the books there than any one else.'* This was George 
Sumner. He was one of the habitues of our house. 
I remember a visit he paid us at Lawton's Valley 
when a lame knee gave him anxiety. We heard him 
walk heavily and perseveringly up and down his 
room, in the vain hope of curing it by exercise. One 
day there was a crash ! In the effort to save himself 
from falling he had pulled over the light iron wash- 
stand. When he again visited us my father had him 
placed, chair and all, in an open wagon that he might 
enjoy a drive. I last saw him at the Massachusetts 
General Hospital when he could move little save his 
head. Thus was a brilliant man in the prime of life 
turned gradually into a marble statue! 

George L. Stearns was a striking figure, with his 
beautiful brown beard, long, soft, and silky as a 
woman's hair. He was greatly interested in the anti- 
slavery cause, and when the Civil War came entered 
the army as a major. He wished to serve without 
pay, which my father thought a mistake, because an 
unpaid volunteer might feel unwilling to submit to 
the regular discipline of the army. It is true that my 
father had served in the army of Greece without pay, 
but the conditions there were very different from 
those prevailing in the United States during the Civil 
War. 

Mrs. Stearns was also full of public spirit, al- 
though sometimes rather sentimental. She once 
brought to "Green Peace" a bunch of nasturtiums of 

64 



NOTED VISITORS AT ''GREEN PEACE'' 

various colors, which were then something of a rarity. 
Apropos of these, she said to my father, who knew 
nothing of music : 

"Doctor Howe, do not the palest of these nastur- 
tiums remind you of the high notes of the soprano in 
the opera of *Semiramide' ?" 

The persons of note who came to "Green Peace" 
could all speak some language — Greek, French, Po- 
lish, German, or Italian — if not English. 

There was one silent figure, however, who spoke 
only with her swift-flying fingers. Yet her fame had 
spread over the civilized world. The name of Laura 
Bridgman was a household word in the nineteenth 
century. That a girl, deaf, dumb, and blind from 
infancy, should be able to communicate her thoughts 
to others, write, cipher, and study like other children, 
was thought a miracle. People found it so hard to 
believe that they came in crowds to see the marvel 
with their own eyes. So many visitors — eleven hun- 
dred, on one occasion — appeared at the weekly exhi- 
bitions of the school that it was thought necessary to 
seat Laura in a little enclosure, lest her young head be 
turned by too much attention. 

Charles Dickens thus saw her. His account of his 
visit to the school, with a beautiful tribute to my 
father, is to be found in his American Notes. If 
Byron's helmet was the symbol of the latter's earlier 
labors, Laura Bridgman was the living witness of the 
success of his later work. 

She was often summoned to "Green Peace" to see 
foreigners of distinction, as well as to make familiar 
visits to the household. When I can first remember 

65 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

her she was a young woman in the early twenties. 
Her education had then been completed, but she was 
allowed to remain at the school, the true home of her 
spirit. Here every one could talk her finger language. 

In appearance Laura was exquisitely neat. Her 
brown hair was brushed perfectly smooth and braided 
in a coil at the nape of the neck, thus showing to ad- 
vantage her shapely head. She had good features 
and was comely, save for the heavy white scars at her 
throat made by the disease — scarlet fever — which had 
deprived her of her senses. Green shades covered the 
sightless eyes. 

When sister Julia and I were very young we were 
naughty enough to tease Laura. One of us would 
lead her to a chair in which the other was already 
seated. When she attempted to sit in it she found 
the place occupied. Another silly joke was to pound 
with our feet and make such a racket that Laura, 
feeling the vibrations through the floor, would ask us 
to stop. Knowing that she was totally deaf, this 
seemed to us very amusing. My father's step she 
knew at once. I have seen him tiptoe softly into the 
room where she was seated. She, not to be deceived, 
sprang up and followed him about the room, he walk- 
ing always with the same light step and laughingly 
eluding her. Musical vibrations gave her real pleas- 
ure. In later years she was delighted with the present 
of a music-box to which she "listened'* by placing 
her feet upon it ! 

We early learned to talk with Laura. She used 
the single-handed alphabet, making each letter very 
carefully for those who had not learned to understand 

66 



NOTED VISITORS AT ''GREEN PEACE'' 

her rapidly. As soon as you recognized the letter 
you tapped her hand gently as a sign for her to give 
the next one. When answering, you formed the letters 
in the hollow of her hand, which partly closed over 
your fingers while she quickly grasped your meaning. 
Conversation was carried on rapidly with those accus- 
tomed to talk with h^r. She was in the habit of 
speaking certain words and making some abbrevia- 
tions, thus saving time. By feeling of the lips and 
throat of her interlocutor she had learned to articu- 
late certain sounds. If you asked her to rehearse 
her little vocabulary, she would first spell the word 
on her fingers and then pronounce it. "Doc — Doc" 
was the abbreviation for her beloved "Doctor," as my 
father was universally called at the institutions under 
his charge. She had nearly sixty sounds for persons.^ 
My father regretted later that he had not taught 
Laura to speak. He was one of the earliest advo- 
cates in America of teaching articulation to deaf- 
mutes. One of his battles royal was with the authori- 
ties at Hartford, who were much opposed to this 
system, now the universally accepted one. I remem- 
ber the visit of a German deaf-mute to my father 
when I was a child. He arranged that our cook, 
who was of the same nationality, should have a little 
talk with the man. When informed afterward that 
he was deaf she refused to believe it ! 



1 See Dr. Francis Lieber's account of Laura Bridgman's vocal 
sounds printed by the Smithsonian Institution in Vol. II of the 
Smithsonian Contributions to Knowledge, 



VII 



YOUNG AMERICA GOES TO SCHOOL 

Our Schools and Teachers. — The South Boston Omnibus. — A 
Grand School Sleigh-ride. — Memories of the Adams Family. 
— A Picnic on the State House Steps. 

OUR earliest school-days have been already de- 
scribed. I can first remember the dignity of 
traveling as dames seules in an omnibus, in connec- 
tion with the Stevenson School. In those primitive 
days Boston was a small city and the foreign popu- 
lation was not large. It was therefore considered 
quite safe for us to go from South Boston to our 
school in Hancock Street in the omnibus. This ve- 
hicle was a patriarchal affair, going on wheels the 
greater part of the year. They were changed for 
runners when snow lay on the ground. In my child- 
hood this was never cleared away from the streets of 
Boston, the use of sleighs being universal. Unfor- 
tunately, the heavy teams soon made the surface of 
the snow extremely uneven so that you rose on a 
hillock at one moment and descended at the next into 
a valley called a ''cradle-hole." This was bad enough 
in an open vehicle — but in the closed sleighs of the 
period, booby-hacks or booby-huts as they were 
called, the motion was so violent as to make people 
§easick, 



YOUNG AMERICA GOES TO SCHOOL 

The snow-storms were terrific. Mountains of 
snow lined the thoroughfares and hid the sidewalks 
from our infant view. The omnibus seemed to be 
progressing to its destiny between lofty Alps. For- 
tunately, the designers of these vehicles realized that 
amusement would be necessary, to beguile the way. 
Above each window was a picture (?) to be studied 
and admired. The glass in the door bore the legend, 
"htuos notsob," the meaning of which was for some 
time a mystery to us. Then there was the funny 
little lamp which used camphene, I suspect — a dan- 
gerous fluid eschewed by careful people. 

As the omnibus went at infrequent intervals, we 
often made the trip in company with the same per- 
sons. We maintained, however, a proper maidenly re- 
serve, entering into no conversation with our fellow- 
travelers. On one point their views differed from 
ours. Having paid three cents apiece (half -fare) for 
our seats, we felt it in accordance with our dignity 
to retain them under all circumstances. When the 
omnibus was full we would be invited to sit on some 
gentleman's knee, thus making room for another lady. 
My firm refusal to do this led to my being called 
"Young America" by unappreciative fellow-passen- 
gers. 

The seat next to the door was very pleasant, as it 
commanded a fine view to the rear. While occupy- 
ing this agreeable post of vantage one day I incau- 
tiously put my forefinger in the crack of the door. 
The driver pulled the latter to with a bang, causing 
me sharp pain. Julia and I were alone in the omni- 
bus^ except for one stolid young woman who did noth- 

69 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

ing to comfort the weeping and frightened children. 
Fortunately we were near home. Alas! Papa, the 
good surgeon, was out. Mamma, who could not bear 
the sight of blood, would not look at the crushed 
finger, but instantly ordered the carriage and took me 
to see Dr. William Bigelow. He pronounced, to our 
great relief, that no bones were broken. The finger 
has never quite recovered its original shape. My 
mother was much worried at the moment, but made 
merry over the accident a little later in The Listener ^ 

The school of the Misses Stevenson was just oppo- 
site the reservoir and a stone's throw from the State 
House. The last named had not then received the 
additions which have doubtless increased its useful- 
ness, but detracted from its beauty. It stood simple 
and majestic, a fitting crown to dear old Beacon Hill. 
No odious apartment-house then lifted a commercial 
head above it, dwarfing the height of the beautiful 
dome. The old Hancock house still stood near by. 
It had not yet made way for the mansion of the gen- 
tleman whose ambition was to have the handsomest 
house in Boston and the finest tomb in Mount Auburn. 
Alas for human ambition ! I fancy that few people now 
remember either this man, his dwelling, or his tomb. 

We children loved to play on the granite steps and 
balustrades of the State House, also to climb to the 
dome when permitted. A selfish and obstructionist 
legislature allowed no one to go there while the Gen- 
eral Court was in session, asserting that the noise 
disturbed them. 



1 See Chapter IV. 

79 



YOUNG AMERICA GOES TO SCHOOL 

In The Listener we find many mentions of the 
Stevenson School. Prominent among our diversions 
was the holding of fairs. 

I regret to say that these would seem to have been 
purely commercial transactions, if we may judge by 
the "advertisement" in The Listener. As it appeared 
after the fair, it was a little different from an ordi- 
nary modern advertisement. 

Every lady who helped to sell things, got 43 cents, and if the 
fair should be held next year, we advise all who do not wish 
to trouble their papas for pocket money to take a table at the 
fair. 

We note, however, that the young ladies are ad- 
vised to remember the poor and forget the candy- 
shop, "as there are a great many little girls who want 
bread this hard winter." 

The articles sold were, to a great extent, contrib- 
uted by our long-suffering elders. "The head of 
John the Baptist on a charger" was furnished, how- 
ever, by one of the school-girls. The head of a small 
china doll was displayed on a tiny plate, adorned with 
vermiHon paint! 

The following Listener editorial, from my mother's 
pen, tells of an excursion to Fresh Pond and of her 
falling down. She never learned to be thoroughly 
at home on ice, like her own ducklings : 

The Listener January nth, 1855. 

Editor's Table 

We do not know that the week just past had in it any event 

71 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

more important than the great Stevenson and Howe sleigh-ride, 
which took place on Monday last — the Stevenson school sleigh- 
ride, in the great Howe sleigh. The young ladies looked and 
behaved their very best. Miss Loring's bonnet and yellow 
ribbons were remarkably becoming — shouldn't wonder if other 
Judges than Judge Loring thought "our Gal" very good looking. 
Arrived at the pond, sliding became the order of the day. 
Misses Kate Selfridge and Susie Sargent were last seen with 
Mrs. Howe between them, like two little steam-tugs towing 
out a seventy- four. The 74 went down (on the ice) and the 
tugs scattered. Mr. Henry Marion (Bunker) Howe distin- 
guished himself by a bump on the head, Mr. Bradford went 
about like a dear old Puss in Boots. After a good deal of 
slip-sliding, the party adjourned to the Hotel, where hot 
lemonade was demanded, drunk, and paid for, the young ladies 
supplying the spirits. The ride home was chiefly remarkable 
for the hearty cheering of sleighs and dirt-carts and hissing of 
toll-gate men. 



Among our friends and playmates was Mary 
Adams,_ the youngest daughter of Charles Francis 
Adams, Sr. The town residence of the family was in 
Mount Vernon Street, only a stone' s-throw from the 
State House. It was a simple brick structure, of the 
fashion then prevailing. That early style of archi- 
tecture gave an air of solidity and dignity not always 
found in the more ornate fashions of to-day. The 
Adams house was built in the English-basement style, 
the pleasant dining-room looking out upon Mount 
Vernon Street. Like the neighboring residences, it 
stood some twenty or thirty feet back from the side- 
walk, a paved court leading up to the door and giving 
the abode a certain air of privacy and retirement. 
Spacious parlors ran across the entire front of the 
second story, the building being a wide one. At the 

72 



YOUNG AMERICA GOES TO SCHOOL 

rear, a ball-room had been built on, and I remember 
a delightful children's party there. To say that we 
played at "pillows and keys" with John Quincy 
Adams and Charles Francis Adams, Jr., has a his- 
toric, almost a presidential sound. 

At supper there was a ring in the cake, an 
essential feature of these juvenile entertainments. 
We drew lots out of a silk hat, and the prize fell 
to my share. As the slips were not folded up, 
"Ring,'' written on one larger than the rest, was 
plainly discernible to my youthful eyes. The re- 
cording angel suggests in mitigation that greater 
care should have been taken to disguise that royal 
slip ! 

In the Adams' nursery we had many merry times 
with our paper dolls and other toys. The favorite 
doll in that day was "Jenny Lind," with changes of 
dress showing all the operatic roles in which the fa- 
mous prima donna had appeared. 

I fear these recollections of mine will seem strange 
to those people who have heard that Boston society 
was opposed to theater-going in the 'fifties and 'six- 
ties. There was, in some families, a disapproval of 
the theater, and certain of our young friends were 
not allowed to go to the play — save at the Boston 
Museum. This was considered a family place of 
resort, and many persons came to see performances 
there who would not have thought it right to go to a 
regular theater. The children liked to arrive early 
and to examine all the curiosities including the wax- 
works, which were terrible, yet fascinating. It seems 
strange now to think that a group representing the 

73 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

murder of a well-known Bostonian should have been 
exhibited here. 

Boston people then dined at half past two o'clock, 
on the return of the children from school, business 
men coming home across the Common for the meal, 
and going back to their offices afterw^ard. The din- 
ner hour at the Adams' w^as a little later, three 
o'clock, and this seemed in keeping with a certain 
stateliness that characterized the family, as w^ell as 
great cordiality and hospitality. I remember that 
there was a profusion of silver plate, and all the 
appointments were handsome. A closed buffet with 
glass doors and glass shelves seemed to me especially 
elegant. Mr. Adams sat at the head of the table and 
carved, as the heads of families did at that time. I 
remember him as a quiet and dignified gentleman, 
yet kindly rather than stem. Doubtless we young- 
sters were impelled to behave well in his presence, yet 
I do not remember being afraid of him, as we should 
have been of an unkind or tyrannical man. 

How quiet and primitive was the dear old Boston 
of that day! As girls of eight and ten years we 
loved to romp and play on the Common, tumbling 
about on the grass and having little feasts of straw- 
berries in the small thimble-shaped baskets wherein 
those delectable berries were then sold. How delight- 
ful it would be, some of us thought, to have a real 
picnic on the State House steps ! 

The supplies having been secured from our respec- 
tive homes, w^e met on the steps of Massachusetts* 
Capitol, but, alas ! unwelcome guests came too. Va- 
rious boys of our acquaintance, led by Brooks Adams, 

74 



YOUNG AMERICA GOES TO SCHOOL 

the youngest of the family, appeared upon the scene, 
and we reluctantly beat a retreat, the boys forming 
a skirmish-line and hovering around us and our pro- 
visions. After this feat of daring we were never 
allowed to have picnics again within the city limits. 

When summer came, the Adamses removed to the 
old family mansion in Quincy, and here, too, sister 
Julia and I had the pleasure of visiting them. I am 
afraid we did not think much about the presidential 
memories connected with the house, which was cer- 
tainly a delightful one. On the second floor was a 
spacious drawing-room, only opened, I think, for state 
occasions. It was furnished in yellow damask, and I 
have a dim memory of family portraits as we sported 
about among the cushions. 

Evidently the sturdy spirit of the old Adamses was 
not wanting to their descendants, and with Master 
Brooks we had some conflicts (he was seven or eight 
at this time). Perhaps we, being so many girls, in 
some way infringed upon his rights. 

The older sons of the house, John Quincy 
and Charles Francis, Jr., were at this time students 
at Harvard College, or had recently graduated there- 
from. They were genial, witty and delightful, and 
showed great kindness to their little sister and her 
friends. Of course we were only too well pleased to 
listen to the conversation of such clever and agree- 
able young men, though too youthful to have devel- 
oped much feminine coquetry. Yet it was a salve to 
our pride that we were considered old enough to be 
worthy any notice from such brilliant people. Master 
Brooks did not appreciate us as his elder brothei-s did. 

75 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

"Green Peace'* was not more than eight miles dis- 
tant from Quincy. My father was extremely fond 
of riding on horseback and often took us with him. 
The younger generation of the Adamses were also 
fond of this exercise, hence we used occasionally to 
join forces and pace through the lovely country lanes 
together. By this time I had attained to the dignity 
of semi-young-ladyhood. An untoward event attend- 
ed our return from one of these expeditions. As our 
hospitable hosts detained us to ''high tea," it was 
dark when we went to the gate to remount our 
horses, and one of the young gentlemen, in, putting 
me on my palfrey, landed me on the horse's neck. 
When this disaster was discovered every one laughed 
heartily, while I crawled back into the proper posi- 
tion, feeling my youthful dignity somewhat dimin- 
ished. 

My father, who was active in the councils of the 
Republican party and who was a friend of Charles 
Francis Adams, once called to see him about some 
matter connected with his approaching election to 
Congress, if I remember aright. Vv^e were received 
in the wonderful mahogany room. The existence of 
this was not known until recent times, when some 
workmen accidentally discovered beneath the plaster a 
wall of solid mahogany reaching from floor to ceiling. 
The plaster was removed and the mahogany paneled 
and varnished, thus making a beautiful and unusual 
interior. 

Mrs. Charles Francis Adams was a fine-looking 
woman whose bright black eyes bespoke keenness of 
mind as well as geniality and vivacity of tempera- 

76 



YOUNG AMERICA GOES TO SCHOOL 

ment. At the time of which I speak, her hair was jet 
black and worn in the smooth bandeaux then fash- 
ionable. Both in appearance and in disposition she 
formed a contrast with her distinguished husband, 
who was already bald and gray, with blue eyes. 

Brother Harry and sister Laura went at this time to 
a school kept by Miss Susan Hale, a sister of Edward 
Everett Hale. Harry had been from his tenderest 
years an extremely mischievous child. If Miss Hale 
punished him by putting him in the closet, some dam- 
age to the clothing hanging there was sure to result. 
Laura was a very good and amiable little girl, and 
conscientious as well. 

Nevertheless, when she was about five years old a 
curious indisposition was wont to attack her as the 
time approached for starting for school. With the 
brutal penetration of the older sister, I saw that this 
was only ''shamming." But the elders were more 
lenient. The child perhaps might not feel well, so 
she was allowed to remain at home. As soon as the 
rest of us had departed she recovered her health with 
surprising promptness ! 

In extenuation of this little piece of innocent de- 
ception it should be said that she was rather a delicate 
child. 

She, as well as Julia, developed a literary turn of 
mind very early. When only five years old she de- 
lighted the rest of us by reciting "Annie of Loch- 
royan" and other ballads from Thalatta, a book of 
which we were all fond. A little later, when she 
went to the school kept by Mr. Henry Williams, he 
called her in to read before the older girls, for the 

6 77 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

instruction of the latter. Dear, good man, he did not 
reaHze the naughtiness of girls. They made the 
child's life miserable by teasing her after this event. 

I have already mentioned some of our foreign 

teachers. Among these was a German, Dr. D , 

who had ten children and, as I think, no servant. 
Yet he told us that he never wanted to dine out, as 
his wife was such a good cook. This seemed to me 
a little hard on that good woman. He had the habit 
of learning, before breakfast, one hundred words of 
some foreign language ! Evidently he was a man of 
attainments but not of scientific accuracy. 

One could pardon, as a poetic flight of fancy, his 
statement that the mastodon — or some other extinct 
beast — was as large as the Institution for the Blind. 
But when it came to the price of cows, that was an- 
other matter. He made a misstatement on this sub- 
ject to the blind boys, some of whom were country 
lads, and thus lost their confidence. Possibly they 
were unjust, for the learned professor might have 
confused German and American prices ! 



VIII 

THE AGASSIZ SCHOOL 

Professor and Mrs. Louis Agassis. — Prof. Alexander Agassis. 
— Papanti's Dancing-school. — I Invent Fancy Dances. — We 
Swim, Skate, and Ride on Horseback. — Boston's Purple- 
glass Windows. 

AMONG the pleasant friends who came to "Green 
Peace" were Professor and Mrs. Louis Agassiz. 
Thus it naturally happened that I was sent to the 
Agassiz School. The journey from South Boston 
to Cambridge took so long, in those days, that I gave 
it up after three months' trial. As I was then only 
twelve years of age, I did not fully appreciate the 
advantages offered by the school — advantages of 
which girls from distant parts of the United States 
were very glad to avail themselves. The special 
feature of the school, however, even the youngest 
pupils were old enough to enjoy. Who could help 
enjoying the closing hour of the day when the schol- 
ars assembled in the big class-room to listen to a 
delightful talk from the lips of the great naturalist 
himself? As he stood before the great blackboard, 
now drawing figures, now explaining to us the de- 
velopment of the little animals whose growth forms 
the coral reefs, the movement of the glaciers, or the 
reason of the gradual recession of Niagara Falls, 

79 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

we sat listening to his words with eager interest. 
He adapted himself to our youthful comprehension 
with the utmost ease — or, if there was any effort 
made, it was not an apparent one. 

A great charm of these talks was that in them 
the professor brought us the fresh fruits of his own 
experience. He had personally investigated the gla- 
ciers before coming to America. The theory that 
they had once covered the earth originated with him, 
if I remember aright. He had also visited the coral 
reefs. I have understood from Prof. Alexander 
Agassiz that his father's views about these were not 
fully accepted by later scientists. To the lay mind 
it would appear that Science is almost as fickle as 
Fashion ! 

Of Darwinism Professor Agassiz was a vigorous 
opponent. The new doctrine seemed to him irrecon- 
cilable with the idea of a divine Providence, and 
would, he feared, destroy the faith of mankind. Pro- 
fessor Agassiz and Professor Asa Gray found them- 
selves diametrically opposed on this question. There 
is a legend of a lively meeting between them in Cam- 
bridge, where words almost led to blows ! 

An account of the Agassiz School would be in- 
complete if it did not mention the Agassiz omnibus, a 
white, high-stepped vehicle which took its winding 
way through the thoroughfares of old-fashioned 
Boston, calling for the girls at streets and places which 
have now vanished into the past like the old 'bus 
itself, or, if they exist at all, exist only as soulless 
business streets, with great granite blocks of shops 
replacing the dear old houses shaded by lofty trees. 

80 



THE AGASSIZ SCHOOL 

The purple-glass windows which they had inherited 
from an earlier generation (some are still to be seen 
on Beacon Hill) furnished indisputable proof of the 
wonderful virtue of early Boston boys, or of the ex- 
treme watchfulness of Puritan parents. 

While there were some very studious girls, about 
whose profound learning wonderful stories were 
whispered, who patronized the Agassiz omnibus, there 
were also fashionable and rather frivolous young 
ladies among our number — who danced at balls and 
parties in the evening and as a natural consequence 
came to school very tired in the morning. Human 
nature in mid- Victorian days was very much as it is 
now. One sad memory is indissolubly connected with 
the Agassiz omnibus. It relates to the hats I wore — 
and to those which, had fate permitted, I should have 
liked to wear. The views of my dear mother on the 
subject of headgear differed from those of her neigh- 
bors. In Boston the sumptuary laws of this period 
prescribed that your hat should be as nearly as pos- 
sible the exact ditto of that worn by every other 
woman and girl in the town. During this particular 
spring white-straw bonnets, trimmed with green rib- 
bon outside and pink ribbon inside, were the regulation 
wear. Now blue was my color, and my bonnet was 
garnished with a ribbon of bluish gray tint, more be- 
coming to me than the universal pink. I was prepared 
to accept this variation from type, the bonnet being 
pretty in itself. But, alas I this was not the worst. 
Our mother also had an idea that round hats were 
more suitable for school-girls than bonnets. Accord- 
ingly, I was provided with a brown straw shade-hat, 

8i 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

the brim of which seemed huge to my excited imagi- 
nation. It was expected that I should wear this to 
school, reserving the bonnet for best. 

I adopted the desperate expedient of wearing my 
winter bonnet out of the proper season. Oh, how 
I scrutinized the girls, as they entered the om- 
nibus, to see how many still wore their winter 
bonnets ! Several obligingly did so, but their number 
became daily less. At last I was driven from the 
burrow — or trench — of that velvet bonnet and obliged 
to come out into the open. A few times I tremblingly 
wore the huge round hat — the only one in the stage. 
Once or twice I took refuge in the Cambridge street- 
cars — but here lurked the danger of Harvard stu- 
dents with their critical eyes. At last I boldly put 
on the Sunday blue bonnet. What if it did fade 
and wither from too frequent exposure? At least 
I should be saved from wearing the despised round 
hat! 

Even then, however, there were exceptions to this 
sumptuary law, practised in Cambridge itself, had I 
only known it. 

It was perhaps in this very year, 1858, that Charles 
Francis Adams, Jr., then a student at Harvard, drew 
upon himself a remonstrance from his fellows on 
account of his headgear, to which he made the follow- 
ing reply : 

''An Adams can wear any sort of hat he wishes." 

His fellow-student, my brother-in-law, related this 
story to me many years afterward, in a grieved spirit. 
I assured him that Charles Francis Adams, Jr., was 
right. Certain families of the Hub possessed at that 

82 



THE AGASSI Z SCHOOL 

date a prescriptive right to dress as they pleased, 
every one knowing who they were. 

Young Mr. Adams, far from showing conceit, was 
simply illumining the way for us all in the direction 
of personal independence. 

The Agassiz School was held in the professor's 
own pleasant house on Quincy Street, Cambridge, 
very near Harvard College. Probably the older girls 
were conscious of this fact, but I was too young to 
bear it much in mind. The students whom I met 
occasionally in the street seemed to me great and 
august beings. Time, however, brings its revenges. 
In later life, when my sons were undergraduates, I 
had occasion to revisit Cambridge. The students no 
longer inspired me with awe; whether they were 
afraid of me or not I cannot say. 

In his charming wife Professor Agassiz had a most 
efficient helpmeet who entered into all his plans and 
followed his work with loving zeal and intelligence. 
Mrs. Agassiz, who survived her husband for many 
years, was a very charming woman. She had a noble 
and whole-souled nature, which one fancied was con- 
tagious, for the moment at least. I think it would 
have been impossible to do a mean thing while in her 
company. 

In the days of the Agassiz School she was still a 
young woman, and we all felt that she was the pre- 
siding genius of the establishment as she flitted from 
room to room in her pretty, trim morning dress and 
cap with its fresh flowing ribbons, which seemed to 
correspond so well with the sweetness and freshness 
of her disposition. She heard the lessons of the 

83 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

younger pupils, but I am sure that she exercised a 
sweet and wholesome influence over all the scholars, 
old and young. 

Prof. Alexander Agassiz taught in his father's 
school. I remember him in those days as a hand- 
some, rather melancholy-looking young man who was 
suspected of being afraid of the biggest girls. Not 
long afterward he married one of them, Miss Anna 
Russell, daughter of my father's old chum, George 
Russell. Prof. Alexander Agassiz was much more 
reserved and grave than his father, whose genial tem- 
perament was full of warmth and sunshine. Occa- 
sionally he also gave us a lecture. 

During many years of his life, Louis Agassiz 
worked through a great part of the night, sleeping 
very late in the morning. It is said that one Sunday 
morning Mrs. Agassiz, while dressing for church, 
suddenly called out, ^'Agassiz ! there is a snake in my 
boot !" To which the Professor drowsily replied, "I 
wonder where the others are !'* 

I remember a lecture where he showed us an orange 
to represent a sea-urchin. With a sudden move- 
ment he opened the fruit, which we then saw had 
been cut, into the form of a starfish, thus showing 
the relationship between the two types of creatures, 
and the audience burst into applause. 

In 1859 our parents made a visit to the West Indies 
which our mother described in A Trip to Cuba. We 
children stayed with various relatives and friends, 
Mrs. Charles H. Dorr, at that time living in Jamaica 
Plain, hospitably receiving me. I thus came to know 
the young girls living in that pleasant suburb, and to 

84 



THE AG ASS I Z SCHOOL 

attend the school of Miss Lucia M. Peabody. The 
double attraction was so strong that I was willing to 
take the trip of some six miles daily, for more than 
three years, walking from South Boston to the 
Jamaica Plain horse-car in Boston. 

Miss Peabody not only loved study herself, but 
made it attractive to others. She was an excellent 
teacher, to whom I owe much gratitude. 

If it had not been for Charlotte Bowditch, I should 
have been the first scholar in arithmetic. But Char- 
lotte, who was a granddaughter or great-niece of the 
famous navigator, was hopelessly ahead of us all. 
This was an excellent thing for my vanity. 

Among my school memories is that of a very ex- 
traordinary dictionary belonging to one of my 
friends. The learned German — he must have been a 
German — who compiled it had evidently been im- 
posed upon by some wag. Thus the synonyms for 
"to die" were given as "to kick the bucket," "to hop 
the twig," "to go to Davy Jones's locker." I do not 
think the book was vicious, but it abounded in slang. 
Perhaps it was prepared for the use of sailors in 
foreign ports ! 

Our physical culture began early. We learned to 
swim without especial instruction, each one of us 
following out his or her own ideas, brother Harry 
keeping his head under water, sister Julia paddling 
dog-fashion, I swimming on my back. 

We learned to ride very young, beginning with 
Jose, a little Spanish donkey presented to us by 
Albert Sumner, a brother of Charles. He had been 
for some years the mount of Mr. Sumner's daughter 

85 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Kate, and was an animal of high character. In his 
letter of introduction Mr. Sumner duly sets forth 
Jose's many excellent traits, mentioning also that as 
he came from Barbary he must be a pure Barb ! He 
was a gentle animal, but possessed of the amiable 
determination characteristic of his species. He never 
bit, kicked, nor scratched, but he was a person of 
dignity and his movements were marked by great 
deliberation. The only way in which we could coax 
him out of a walk was to run before him, holding out 
a piece of bread. This soon became fatiguing to the 
advance courier. 

When we had a children's party, he was brought 
out for the entertainment of the visitors. Jose did 
not like to have strange children on his back, and 
could tell at once when the reins were in the hands 
of an inexperienced rider. In this case he would 
turn toward the fence, putting his head and forefeet 
under the lowest board. He thus obliged the child 
either to dismount or to come in contact with the 
fence. Sometimes he would vary the proceedings by 
running to the barn. 

Indeed, running away was one of Jose's accom- 
plishments, so inconsistent is donkey nature. The 
fences at South Boston were from time to time 
adorned with little posters bearing the legend : "Lost 
— a small brown donkey. The finder will please 
return him," etc. 

Once my brother Harry, who was perhaps eight 
years of age, received an official letter beginning, 
"Sir, your ass is in the pound." 

Jose was from time to time the shrine of a sin- 



THE AGASSIZ SCHOOL 

gular pilgrimage. A group of people, bearing a child 
sick with whooping-cough, would arrive at "Green 
Peace" and ask to interview our donkey. The pa- 
rents took their station, one on each side of Jose, 
and passed the child to each other three times over 
and under the animal. In order to make the cure 
complete, a piece of bread was put in the donkey's 
mouth and then given to the child. The superstition 
rests on the theory that the donkey is a sacred animal, 
since Christ once rode on him ; witness the cross upon 
his back. 

We owned for a time another donkey — Billy — who 
possessed a most unamiable disposition. He was not 
our friend and companion like Jose, and we did not 
ride on his back. He formed part of a donkey tan- 
dem which we drove at Newport, our uncle Sam 
having given us a delightful pony-carriage and har- 
ness. When we went abroad in this little conveyance 
a dreadful danger lurked by the wayside, for the 
Andersons' donkey lived in a field bordering on the 
road over which we were obliged to pass. Like the 
evil spirit in the story of the Three Goats Brausewind, 
he accosted us in a very rude way. Jose and Billy 
were evidently moved by the appeal of their fellow- 
donkey, and we were greatly troubled in mind. For 
a tandem, as every one knows, is a most difficult 
team to drive, even when undisturbed by asinine con- 
versation. 

My father trained us all to ride first with a lead- 
ing-rein, afterward alone. By his side we rode many 
miles about the country. With Cora, our pretty but 
imperfectly broken colt, I had some terrifying mo- 

87 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

merits. We were in the habit of going out tete-a-tete, 
she and I, and all would go well until we met an ice- 
wagon, or crossed a certain railroad bridge. Then 
she would shy and run, but fortunately I did not 
fall off. 

Lorenzo Papanti, his dancing-classes and his hall, 
were among the institutions of old Boston. It was 
said that this accomplished veteran had instructed 
three generations of Bostonians in the art of dancing. 
He was by no means young when I first remember 
him, although his dark wig doubtless made him look 
older than he really was; his blue-gray eyes would 
have appeared less fishlike, his complexion less red 
and mottled, had he appeared before us without this 
adornment. For a man with a bald head to teach 
dancing might, it is true, seem incongruous. He was 
always in evening dress, dignified and graceful in his 
movements, as became one of his profession. Age- 
had no power to wither him. He bore a strong re- 
semblance to William Warren, the noted actor. 
When I saw portraits of the latter on cigar-boxes 
labeled "Boston's favorite," I supposed they were 
likenesses of Papanti. 

In these days of division of labor it seems wonder- 
ful to remember that he had no assistant. He taught 
us to dance, playing at the same time on his fiddle. 
He kept us in good order, routing the truants out of 
the dressing-rooms if we stayed there too long to 
play and talk. He had the Italian genius for gov- 
erning, inherited, doubtless, from the ancient Ro- 
mans. 

When Mr. Papanti sounded a preliminary flour- 



THE AGASSIZ SCHOOL 

ish on his fiddle and asked us to take partners for the 
quadrille of the lancers, the boys did not rush joy- 
ously forward, as might have been expected. Our 
master was often obliged to lead them out in a long, 
reluctant line, dragging back as much as they dared. 
With some twenty or thirty boys in tow, he would 
approach the girls, who were not very encouraging. 
It was pleasanter to dance with your girl friends than 
with strange boys who had little to say. A' certain 
Master J once ejaculated, "My stars!" in talk- 
ing to his partner. We considered this very bad 
form. There were one or two little boys of greater 
conversational powers whom we admired. 

Mr. Papanti duly instructed the elect of the class 
in the gavotte. It was a proud moment when you 
were chosen to take part in this. The "shawl" dance 
was even more select. The single couple — a brother 
and sister — who danced this had reached the height of 
human ambition at Papanti's. 

The hall had a delightful spring floor, the like of 
which I have never beheld. It yielded beneath your 
feet like a live thing! 

When we were children dancing was one of our 
home pleasures. Our mother, who had an endless 
store of operatic airs in her memory, would sit down 
at the grand piano at the children's hour. As her 
nimble fingers struck the keys away we all went, each 
doing a pas seul of some sort. 

To sister Julia belongs the credit of inventing the 
"frog" minuet. This is only suitable for very young 
children. You go down on your hands and knees, 
then you lift first the right arm and knee, after that 

89 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

the left, all in time to the music. The movement is 
rather slow. 

My mother's passionate fondness for music and 
love of dancing in her youth have been mentioned 
elsewhere. Small wonder that these dramatic airs, 
as she played them, stirred the little daughter to whom 
dancing was the natural mode of expression. My 
performances were no doubt admired by the family 
much more than they deserved. As we were still 
lingering in a certain degree of Puritanism, the in- 
vention of fancy dances was then rare. 

Among those which I "originated" were dances for 
the four seasons, and the dagger dance — usually 
performed with a silver fruit-knife — of Lady Mac- 
beth. Intimate friends of the family were allowed to 
witness these. Alas! I once cast the dagger from 
me with so noble a passion that it narrowly missed 
one of the guests. After that greater reserve was 
necessary. 

Our mother was quick to recognize and to praise 
any little manifestation of talent or originality on our 
part. She did not look with an entirely favorable eye 
upon our competitors. Thus neither she nor I wholly 
approved of the performance of a little girl who 
danced the cachucha, with castanets, at a party in 
Providence. In the daytime the child was not as 
pretty as by gaslight. I suspect that she was freckled. 
However, she did not again cross my orbit. 

In West Roxbury lived another young girl who 
danced. Miss Emily Russell, a daughter of Mr. 
George Russell. Her performances were more ambi- 
tious than mine, being conducted on the footboard of 

90 



THE AGASSIZ SCHOOL 

a bedstead. Friends were invited to see these, one 
lady appearing in diamonds and a corn-colored 
barege. The costume aroused some criticism. I have 
already intimated that in old Boston it was necessary 
to dress with discretion. 

My father taught us to skate first with one foot, 
thereby avoiding some tumbles. There was a great 
revival of skating shortly before the Civil War. Ja- 
maica Pond was in high favor, the cars going there 
being jammed with people. Father revived his skat- 
ing, as did many older people, a certain general arous- 
ing unfavorable comment by appearing on double 
runners — i.e., skates with two blades. 

To me the exercise was even more delightful than 
riding on horseback. I still dream of flying along on 
skates in the most wonderful manner. 



IX 

EDWIN BOOTH AND CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 

Why They Did Not Act My Mother's Play, "Hippolytusf'—A 
Bundle of Old Playbills. — Letters from Edwin and Mary 
Booth. — Mrs. Frances Ann Kemble. — Statue of Horace 
Mann. — My Father Introduces Written Examinations into 
the Public Schools, amid Angry Protests from the Masters. 

WE usually accepted the appearance of distin- 
guished visitors at "Green Peace" in a spirit 
of philosophic calm. Young people are little moved 
by what does not directly concern them. 

Great was our excitement and delight, however, 
when Edwin Booth called on my mother. We did 
not then know how it happened that our house should 
receive such a delightful visitation. The explanation, 
however, was very simple. Our mother, who had 
already had a play presented on the stage, was asked 
by Mr. Booth's manager to write one for him. Hence 
he came to see her, accompanied by his intimate 
friend with whom she also was acquainted, Walter 
Brackett, the artist. 

She was very liberal in allowing us to see visitors, 
but evidently it was not desirable to permit school- 
girls of a tender and impressionable age to make the 
acquaintance of a young and very handsome actor. 
The visit took place in the room with the Gobelin 
carpet, thus enabli'ng Julia and Florence to get fleet- 

92 



BOOTH AND CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 

ing glimpses of the great man from the adjoining 
conservatory. We never knew whether he heard us 
rusthng about among the plants, but it is highly 
probable that he did. It was aggravating to get only 
furtive glimpses of him through the glass, yet we had 
a fair opportunity to see the young actor. 

He had not yet lost the bright color in his cheeks. 
His purple-black hair was at that time short, curling 
close to his head. ''Short," however, did not then 
mean close-cropped, as in the present day. 

After the departure of the visitors I seized upon 
the chair in which Edwin Booth had sat and marked 
the seat (underneath) with a "B," worked in silver 
thread. It will be guessed that we had already seen 
him upon the stage and worshiped him from afar. 
There were young women bold and foolish enough 
to write to this object of their adoration. He dis- 
liked very much to be thus admired by silly and senti- 
mental girls. Our respectful homage was of a very 
different sort. We considered him a species of super- 
man, as may be judged from the incident of the 
chair. 

When I branded the chair for eternal fame, I little 
dreamed that our hero would revisit us, and that we 
should have a chance to speak to him, if we dared, a 
year or two later. We were no longer obliged to 
lurk in the conservatory, for Booth was now a bene- 
dict, and brought his lovely wife to "Green Peace." 

When I first saw him on the stage this lady — then 

Miss Mary Devlin — took the principal woman's part. 

The play was "The Iron Chest," a tale of secret guilt. 

The mystery of a murder, the guilty man's remorse 

7 93 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

and fear of discovery, form a tragic theme which 
always interests the human mind. 

The opening scene is dramatic. An old servant 
incautiously narrates to the new private secretary the 
story of his master's trial and acquittal. In the midst 
of it they are interrupted by a voice calling from 
behind the scenes, "Adam Winterton, Adam Winter- 
ton, come hither to me !" With what telling effect the 
great actor pronounced these his first words in the 
drama may be guessed by those who remember Edwin 
Booth. The sadness in that wonderful voice struck 
the key-note of the tragedy. The end of the play 
savors of melodrama. On the discovery of his guilt, 
Sir Edward Mortimer falls upon the stage and dies 
to slow music, as his lady-love rushes in and supports 
his head. I fancy the play would not be tolerated, 
except by a Bowery audience, in these days, but with 
Booth in the principal role it was a favorite in the 
middle of the nineteenth century. 

Mary Devlin became engaged to be married to him 
soon afterward, and left the stage. This was a real 
loss to theater-goers, for the actresses who succeeded 
her in the principal roles were by no means so satis- 
factory. It outraged our youthful ideals of fitness to 
have Mrs. E. L. Davenport take such parts as Kath- 
arine in the "Taming of the Shrew," or Ophelia. She 
was middle-aged, thin and not beautiful. Hence, no 
matter how good her acting, she did not please crit- 
ical school-girls. Losing Mrs. Booth from the stage 
brought us compensation, however, since we soon had 
the pleasure of seeing both "the great B and the little 
B," as my mother playfully called them, in private life. 

94 



BOOTH AND CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 

It should here be said that the latter had earned 
the lasting gratitude of the great actor by her gen- 
erous tribute of praise, bestowed at a moment when 
he was hurt and discouraged by harsh criticism. Her 
poem, "Hamlet at the Boston," published in the 
Atlantic Monthly, was a word spoken in season. 

Mary Booth was an exquisite little woman, slender, 
graceful, with a charm of manner more winning than 
that of beauty alone. She and my mother soon be- 
came well acquainted, their pleasant friendship being 
cut short by her untimely death, at the age of twenty- 
five. 

Thus Edwin Booth is one of those whom I remem- 
ber standing beneath Byron* s helmet at "Green 
Peace." His manners were perfectly simple and nat- 
ural. I suspect that he was a little shy in private life. 
He once told us that when called before the curtain 
between the acts or after the play he suffered from 
stage fright. I do not think this is surprising. Dur- 
ing the performance of the play the actor loses him- 
self in his part — he is no longer Edwin Booth, but 
Hamlet. When he is called before the curtain, how- 
ever, his position is a curious one. He is wearing 
the trappings and the suits of woe of the Prince of 
Denmark; yet he must bow, and perhaps make a 
speech, as Edwin Booth. If we had a higher appre- 
ciation of dramatic values we should not call an actor 
before the curtain. Where this is done, in the course 
of the play, it breaks the continuity of the impression 
and summons us from our dream to the prose of 
daily life. 

Negotiations were now under way for the per- 
95 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

formance of my mother's play, ''Hippolytus," with a 
cast including Edwin Booth and Charlotte Cushman. 
This was the drama which she had written for him 
some years before. Mr. Booth and Miss Cushman 
agreed to take part in the play; the manager of the 
Howard Athenaeum, Mr. E. L. Davenport, agreed to 
put it on the stage. Alas! his wife, the actress of 
whom I have already spoken, did not like the part 
assigned to her; other reasons, more or less valid, 
were brought forward by the manager, and the matter 
was dropped, to my mother's great disappointment. 
The question of its production was again brought up, 
long after Edwin Booth's death and toward the end 
of my mother's life. If she had lived a little longer she 
might have seen it appreciatively given in Boston by 
Margaret Anglin and a good company. Edwin Booth's 
opinion of the play is given in the following letter: 

Baltimore, Aug. 26th, 1858. 

My dear Madam, — "Hippolytus" arrived safely a day or two 
since, and I have read it once. Being troubled with a bilious 
attack, I have not been able to give it a very careful reading, 
but am satisfied, even from my hasty perusal of it, that I shall 
like it infinitely. Mr. Barry promises to get it up in superior 
style, and, believe me, I shall use my best endeavors to do 
justice, as far as the acting goes, to the youthful hero; the 
make-up to accord with Phedra's description I fear is beyond 
my art. It needs very little, if any, curtailing or alteration, but 
'twere best to submit to Mr. Barry's judgment, having a 
better knowledge of such matters than myself. 

I shall be in Boston in Oct. next, my engagement being for 
three weeks. I shall have plenty of time to rehearse and assist 
in getting up the piece to the best advantage. 

My best wishes for its success and your own prosperity, 
Madam, I remain your servant, Edwin Booth. 

96 



BOOTH AND CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 

As entertaining was always a delight to my mother, 
she gave several Booth parties. It is chronicled that 
at one of them he spent much of his time playing with 
little Maud, then some eight years old. Clearly he 
did not enjoy being lionized. I have already inti- 
mated that we older girls regarded him as a species of 
Olympian god. This attitude of silent homage must 
have been trying to a man of his good sense and mod- 
esty. Yet he doubtless was wise enough to make 
allowance for school-girls' little harmless follies. 

The most important of these Booth parties was 
given at No. 13 Chestnut Street, the house in Boston 
to which we removed in 1862. Every one wanted to 
come to it, all sorts of people, artistic, literary and 
fashionable, being anxious to meet Edwin Booth. 
The party was a great success, as my mother's enter- 
tainments usually were. I remember that Mrs. Booth 
wore a high-necked silk dress of some delicate color. 
While we wore decollete dresses for dances, we did 
not in those days think it necessary to wear our shoul- 
ders bare on all evening occasions. At her throat was 
a brooch composed of a single large opal. Her sud- 
den death, a fewj months later, recalled to us sadly 
the superstition about this stone which is supposed to 
portend the early death of the wearer. 

Sister Julia went with my mother to the funeral at 
Mount Auburn. Edwin Booth was overwhelmed 
with grief by his wife's sudden death. He was acting 
in New York at the time, and did not reach Boston 
until all was over. The sad news was not broken 
to him by the friends who came to meet him until 
he was in the carriage. On learning it his agony 

97 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

was so intense that they could with difficulty hold 
him. 

I saw him that winter on the Brighton Road, then 
the gay resort of rapidly moving sleighs. Some hope- 
ful friend had evidently thought the scene might 
divert him from his sorrow. A glance at his face 
and figure showed the utter futility of this hope. 
Such an image of sorrow I have never seen. His 
wonderfully expressive features mirrored the grief 
within as only such features can, while his long black 
hair seemed a fitting frame for the dark, melancholy 
face as he sat huddled together in the cutter, his head 
sunk upon his breast. I doubt whether he saw any 
one of that gay throng of people. He saw only one 
face, invisible to us, and a grave in Mount Auburn a 
few miles away. 

Fortunately he had good friends and true to help 
him through this sad time. Among these were the 
two poets, R. H. Stoddard and Thomas W. Parsons. 
In my collection of Booth relics is a note from the 
former to my mother, written soon after the death 
of Mrs. Booth. Being very sympathetic by nature, 
she did not shrink from her friends in time of sor- 
row, but strove to comfort them. Mr. Stoddard 
writes that Booth will see her, adding, "I think you 
can do him good and I have told him so." 

Doctor Parsons* lovely verses give a true picture 
of Mary Booth's exquisite personality. 

We saw a good deal of Doctor Parsons at this 
time. He was a man of the greatest refinement, abso- 
lutely free from self-assertion. He had, withal, a 
touch of genius. One day, on looking up from his 

98 



BOOTH AND CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 

work, he saw Edwin Booth standing before him. 
The poet could but say, ''Angels and ministers of 
grace defend us!" his friend answering in the same 
sportive strain. 

Walking in the neighborhood of the old Revere 
House one day, I saw Edwin Booth and a friend 
driving in a buggy. He had doubtless been visiting 
the grave of his wife at Mount Auburn. To my 
surprise and pleasure, he recognized me by a grave 
bow. As he had seen us all a number of times, at 
the house of our parents, there was really nothing 
surprising in this. But, as I have said, we regarded 
him as a species of superman. 

After Mrs. Booth's death we saw less of the great 
actor, as she had been the gracious link that united 
us all. When he came to spend his summers at New- 
port, a score of years later, the old friendship was 
pleasantly renewed. 

Wilkes Booth I saw several times on the stage in 
the characters of Richard the Third, Shylock and 
Charles Moore in Schiller's play of the "Robbers." 
He also was handsome, taller and heavier than his 
brother. 

Edwin Booth was filling an engagement in Boston 
at the time of Lincoln's assassination. We had tick- 
ets bought before the dreadful news came, for his 
matinee on the fatal Saturday of the President's 
death. All places of amusement were of course closed 
at once. The blow, a stunning one to the whole coun- 
try, brought to Edwin Booth the additional shock of 
his brother's terrible deed. It was reported at the 
time that he had resolved to quit the stage forever. 

99 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

The actors of the day were much troubled that a 
member of their profession should have perpetrated 
such a crime. It was said, in their defense, that act- 
ors had seldom committed deeds of violence. 

Although Edwin Booth and Charlotte Cushman 
never acted in ''Hippolytus," they did appear together 
in ''Macbeth." He mischievously remarked to us that 
he longed to say to Miss Cushman : "Why don't you 
kill him? You're a great deal bigger than I am." 
He did not consider himself heavy enough for the 
part of Macbeth. Yet his rendering of it was very- 
impressive. All the dreadful drama of the murder, 
the knocking at the outer gate, the banquet scene 
where the ghost of Banquo appears, were thrilling to 
witness. 

Who, indeed, has rendered Shakespeare like Edwin 
Booth? Sir Henry Irving could not, in my opinion, 
be compared with him. 

Hamlet was thought his best part — indeed, we said 
he was the gentle Prince of Denmark. The gravity 
of his disposition, "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of 
thought," his natural dignity and the grace of his 
movements, all recalled Hamlet. When my mother 
saw him at the funeral of his beloved wife she re- 
membered how often she had beheld him, on the 
stage, follow Ophelia to the grave. 

Shakespeare's "Richard the Third" was another 
character in which we especially liked to see him. He 
was so handsome, so fascinating, that the scene with 
Lady Anne, where he wins her from the very bier 
of her murdered husband, did not seem unnatural. 
The scene in the tent he gave with tremendous power. 

100 



BOOTH AND CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 

After the ghosts of his victims have appeared to him, 
one after another, calHng down defeat upon his head, 
he arouses himself from his uneasy slumber. Still 
half-asleep, and fighting his way with his sword, he 
staggers to the front of the stage, crying out, "Give 
me another horse; bind up my wounds!" Kneeling 
for a moment, his countenance still distorted, he cries 
out, "Have mercy, Jesu!" His movements as he 
blindly made his way forward, the awful expression 
of his face, with eyes rolled upward, made this scene 
more terrible in its way than that of his death on 
Bosworth Field. 

Yet this revelation of the true soul of the hump- 
backed king lasted but a few moments. Soon he re- 
covers and "Richard is himself again." (This phrase 
must have been added by Colley Gibber, for it is not 
in Shakespeare.) 

As "honest lago," the openness of his countenance 
somehow conveyed to the beholder that it was as- 
sumed. Only in the final scene did he allow the true 
villainy of the character to appear on his face. His 
Othello was beautiful and moving. As Gardinal 
Richelieu he was wonderful, portraying to the life the 
little, cunning, powerful, yet on the whole benevolent 
old man of Bulwer's drama. With what telling efifect 
he drew the magic circle and gave the curse of Rome ! 

I saw him as Shylock a number of times, the last 
time shortly before his retirement from the stage. 
This impersonation had gained greatly in power since 
the early days. The awful look of hatred that, dur- 
ing his talk with Tubal, he allowed for a moment to 
play over his face was a revelation. You caught a 

lOI 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

glimpse of the race hatred accumulated through cen- 
turies of oppression. 

Once when I thoughtlessly spoke of the principles 
of Christianity to a Hebrew acquaintance, I was 
frightened to see something of the same terrible ex- 
pression come over his face. 

When Booth was a young man he often played in 
comedy. The rollicking mischief and fun of his 
Petruchio and Don Caesar de Bazan we greatly en- 
joyed. He gave an abbreviated version of the "Tam- 
ing of the Shrew" as companion piece to "The Iron 
Chest." 

His acting was of an intellectual and poetic type. 
It was said that those who saw Edwin Booth play 
Romeo to Mary Devlin's Juliet were not likely to for- 
get it. They were so young, so beautiful, so identified 
with their parts. I should not say that, ordinarily, he 
excelled in the lover's role. Charles Fechter, in spite 
of his very plain face and ugly figure, could enact 
the love scenes of Claude Melnotte in "The Lady of 
Lyons," with a power that Edwin Booth lacked. 
Was it his natural reserve which made it distasteful 
and difficult for him to simulate love-making in pul> 
lie ? I think it was. Like Hamlet, he had loved once 
and deeply. After that I fancy he took little interest 
in affairs of the heart. It is true, he married again, 
perhaps for companionship. His second wife did not 
long survive their marriage. 

Tenderness of another kind he could well show 
forth. The scene in "King Lear," where he brings 
in the dead Cordelia in his arms, hoping she is still 
alive, was an exquisite piece of acting. 

JOS? 



BOOTH AND CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 

Among my Booth relics is a bundle of playbills, the 
earliest dating back to November 6, 1858. This 
shows "Miss Mary Devlin" in the principal feminine 
role, Lady Helen, in "The Iron Chest." The prices 
are astounding. "Parquet, Balcony, and First Tier 
of Boxes, fifty cents; Family Circle, twenty-five 
cents; Amphitheater, fifteen cents. Children under 
twelve years of age, half price. Private Boxes, 
$6.00." 

A young friend to whom I lately showed this list 
exclaimed, "No wonder Booth was a hero to the pub- 
lic, when the prices were so low that every one could 
afford to go to see him !" 

From the collection of Booth letters I have selected 
two from Mrs. Booth and one from Mr. Booth him- 
self, which will be found of interest : 

My dear Mrs. Howe, — 1 deeply regretted my absence from 
home yesterday when you called — but my disappointment was 
greatly soothed by soon after receiving your polite note of 
invitation to visit you on Sunday. 

We will "tea" with you with infinite pleasure, at the hour 
you appoint — most happy, too, of another opportunity of meet- 
ing Miss Cushman, whose near departure makes her presence 
doubly dear. 

With great esteem, 

Yours very sincerely, 

Mary Booth. 
Wednesday, May 29th. 

My dear Mrs. Howe, — I should only be too delighted to be 
"stared at" this evening at your little party, if I were not 
expressly forbidden by my doctor to go into any excitement; 
I have been so very feeble the past few days ; so for once, dear 
friend, pleasure must yield to duty. We will go over, "the 

103 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Great B" and myself, this week to see you. Please dance a 
"Redowa" for me and believe me your disappointed little friend, 

Mary Booth. 
Friday morn, June 28th. 

The following letter shows Edwin Booth's tender 
care for his little motherless daughter : 

Friday. 

Dear Mrs. Howe, — To-morrow and Sunday night I am en- 
gaged — but think I shall remain at home on account of ill- 
health; to-morrow night I start for New York. I am sorry 
I have been unable to see you, but hope to have that pleasure 
before I leave the city. 

Baby Booth is not with me — I feared the climate and at the 
last moment concluded not to bring her here. I hear from 
her every day. She has grown to be a most splendid child 
and worships her papa. I miss her very much. 

My long winter's work has completely unnerved me and it is 
as much as I can do to drag through my performances. 

Pray present my compliments to the young ladies and to 
Dr. Howe and accept my thanks for your polite invitation. 

Hoping soon to have an opportunity to call upon you, believe 
me, Very truly, 

Your servant, 

Edwin Booth. 

Among my early memories of "Green Peace" is a 
large daguerreotype of Charlotte Cushman. It was 
probably lost in one of the many movings of the 
Howe family. 

When Miss Cushman's furniture and personal 
effects were sold at Newport, many years after her 
death, a portrait of my mother and one of Elizabeth 
Barrett Browning were still hanging in her bedroom ! 
A photograph of the great actress, taken about the 
time of the Civil War, I still possess. 

104 



BOOTH AND CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 

My parents were early interested in Charlotte 
Cushman's acting, as they were in that of Edwin 
Booth, at the beginning of his career. They invited 
guests to meet her at "Green Peace," and asked their 
friends in other cities to extend to her social recog- 
nition. 

In the summer of 1850 they were her fellow-pas- 
sengers on the voyage to England. Sister Laura was 
then an infant. Seeing her gnaw her little fist, 
the actress exclaimed that babies were funny things, 
at the same time mimicking exactly the child's 
action. 

Like Sally Battle, Charlotte Cushman believed in 
the rigor of the game. She and my mother were 
engaged one day in a game of whist when a gentle- 
man was rash enough to talk t© the latter and to 
keep on talking. Charlotte Cushman bore it as long 
as she could, then turned to the offender and said, 
in her great, deep voice, "Remember, this is whist." 
The hint was sufficient. 

Another story we had from my mother was of a 
certain holiday performance when the theater was 
crowded. Miss Cushman was acting with her sister, 
the play being, as I think, "Romeo and Juliet." In 
the midst of the tender love-making a small boy called 
out from the gallery, "Oh, my stummick !" The sis- 
ter was nearly convulsed with laughter, when Char- 
lotte gave her a shake and brought her to herself with 
the words, ^^Rememher where you are!' 

On another occasion, when Miss Cushman came 
bounding upon the stage as Meg Merrilies, she trod 
upon a needle, dropped there by some careless actress, 

105 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

and had to be helped from the stage in an agony of 
pain. 

She had already grown quite gray when I first 
remember her, in the Civil War period. Such a 
wonderfully expressive face could not be called alto- 
gether homely, although her retreating mouth pre- 
vented it from being handsome. Her teeth were 
small and insignificant, while the blue of her eyes 
contrasted well with the gray hair. She was built on 
a generous scale, her figure tall and commanding. As 
Queen Katherine in "Henry the Eighth" she was at 
her best. One of her great points was in the trial scene. 
When the insignificant Cardinal Campeius addressed 
her she turned to Wolsey, with splendid gesture, look- 
ing every inch a queen, as she gave with noble em- 
phasis the lines, "My lord cardinal, to you I speak." 

In 1915-16 I again saw this play, after an interval 
of fifty -years, with Sir Beerbohm Tree as the car- 
dinal. Anne Boleyn was graceful and charming, 
making one understand as never before how Henry 
was won from Katharine. BluflF King Hal was ex- 
tremely well portrayed. Cardinal Wolsey was mag- 
nificent in his vivid scarlet raiment, the costumes and 
scenery all beautiful. The whole was a feast of color 
for the eye. But the one great figure that had domi- 
nated the performance of early years I sadly missed. 
The actress who played Queen Katharine did not 
even attempt to make Charlotte Cushman's great 
point in the trial scene. In the last sad scene Miss 
Cushman vividly portrayed for us the discarded 
queen, sick and suffering unto death. 

I saw her also in "London Assurance," when she 
106 



BOOTH AND CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 

took the part of Lady Gay Spanker. She was gay 
and rolHcking enough, although her gray hair seemed 
a little incongruous in the part of a young woman. 
It was out of keeping also in 'Tazio," where she took 
the role of Bianca. 

Charlotte Cushman possessed wigs, for these were 
sold, with the rest of her theatrical wardrobe, one 
being still in curl papers! When I saw her on the 
stage, however, she appeared with her own gray hair. 

It will be remembered that she had intended to go 
on the operatic stage, but, owing to the loss of her 
singing-voice, was obliged to give this up. The mis- 
hap may have been a blessing in disguise. For the 
perfect development of Miss Cushman's great dra- 
matic talent the legitimate stage was the best agent. 

I had the pleasure of hearing her sing, on the occa- 
sion of a visit to Lawton's Valley. It was a wonder- 
ful performance. It was not like any other singing, 
but rather a species of chanting or weird crooning, in 
which she gave us the simple and moving story of 
"Mary, go and call the cattle home, across the sands 
o' Dee.'* The deep tones of her voice intensified the 
effect. 

My mother also was accustomed to sing this pa- 
thetic ballad, to a tune of her own composition. With 
her high, clear voice the effect was very different from 
that produced by Charlotte Cushman; yet she, too, 
made her hearers feel the deep pathos of the ballad. 

In the Newport days of which I speak we often 
saw Miss Cushman and her intimate friend, Emma 
Stebbins, the sculptress. The latter modeled the 
bronze statue of Horace Mann which stands in front 

107 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

of the State House in Boston, opposite that of Daniel 
Webster. 

I do not think this proximity to the former idol 
of the Massachusetts Whigs was much relished by 
them. But my father had a way of putting through 
what he undertook. As an intimate friend and co- 
worker with Horace Mann, he was chairman of the 
committee for the erection of the memorial. I fancy 
it was he who gave the commission to Miss Stebbins 
and arranged for the contribution of their pennies by 
the school-children of Boston. Doubtless he per- 
suaded those in power that Mann's splendid services 
to the cause of education deserved this recognition 
from the Commonwealth' of Massachusetts. In the 
twentieth century my father's views — ^he was usually 
some fifty years ahead of his time — have come to pre- 
vail. 

It is- sad to remember that Charlotte Cushman's 
last years were clouded by an incurable disease — 
cancer. She made a splendid fight against it, keeping 
on with her work almost to the end of her life. She 
would not give it up until she had made a handsome 
provision for those near and dear to her. 

I remember with pleasure a visit to Fanny Kemble 
— Mrs. Frances Anne Kemble, to give her her full 
name. My father took me as a little girl to see her 
at the Tremont House, where she received us very 
graciously and kindly. I also heard her read one of 
Shakespeare's plays. This she did without any help 
of scenery or special costume. We saw only a mid- 
dle-aged, rather stout lady, dressed quietly in black 
and seated at a table. Although there was much to 

io8 



BOOTH AND CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 

admire in her character, she possessed a stormy tem- 
per. It was said that she once insisted so vehemently 
on having her washing brought to her without delay 
that the tub containing the wet garments in the suds 
was finally set down before her ! 

In these early days she did not admire the acting 
of Edwin Booth. At one of his performances she 
was seen "sniffing," as the story went, her counte- 
nance showing her lack of approbation. He was al- 
ready a favorite with the public, but certain friends of 
Mrs. Kemble followed her opinion. Vehement were 
the arguments which we as enthusiastic admirers of 
Booth had with the Kembelites among our young 
friends. 



lawton's valley, our summer home 

The Beautiful Valley. — The Crawford Children. — "Yellers' 
Day." — "Vaucluse" and the Hazards. — The Midshipmen 
Visit Us. — Dances on Board the Frigate "Constitution." — 
Parties in the Valley. — George Bancroft. — A Party at His 
House. — Rev. Charles T. Brooks. 

THE lovely island of Rhode Island is indented 
with a number of ravines on either shore. The 
most beautiful of these is Lawton's Valley — a deep 
cut between the hills, running a mile into the land, 
from the waters of Narragansett Bay. The en-, 
trance into the valley is so masked with trees, the 
descent into it is so steep, that it lies securely hidden 
from the world above. You suddenly find yourself 
in a wooded gorge, the trees rising high above it on 
either side, and a brook running along the base of the 
cliff, leaping over waterfalls as it goes down to the 
sea. When my father bought the place, a grist-mill 
with a great terrifying wooden wheel stood at the 
head of the largest waterfall. My father, to whom 
gardening was a delight, greatly improved the appear- 
ance of the valley. 

The mill was converted into a school-house con- 
taining also one or two chambers for the bestowal of 
masculine guests, when the house was full to over- 
flowing. There is a family legend that brother 

no 



LAWTON'S VALLEY, OUR SUMMER HOME 

Harry, when a lad, once slept upon the grand piano, 
no other place being available! We were sometimes 
obliged to arise in the night and give up our rooms 
to make way for relatives arriving unexpectedly. 

Some sudden emergency brought our especially be- 
loved Aunt Annie Mailliard and her family to us in 
this way — for Lawton's Valley is six miles from the 
post and telegraph offices. Telegrams then cost three 
dollars to deliver, and frightened us badly ! 

Aunt Annie was the very soul of hospitality, and 
did her full share of it by entertaining us all delight- 
fully at her home in Bordentown, New Jersey. 

Uncle Sam once occupied the mill-chamber and 
reported in the morning that the perpetual tap of 
the hydraulic ram sounded like a constant knocking 
at the door, causing him to murmur in his sleep, 
"Come in ! Come in !" We could not do without the 
ram, however, as it supplied the house with water. It 
was sad when an eel got into the pipe, or some other 
accident stopped the water-supply. The pump, 
whence we obtained our drinking-water, was of a 
pattern calculated to drive one to the wine-cup. You 
turned the handle round and round furiously, and 
after a long time a refreshing stream appeared, borne 
in some mysterious way on two endless parallel 
chains. Then, if you went on pumping like mad, you 
could fill the pail. But if you stopped for one single 
second a horrible gurgling sound informed you that 
the water had retreated to the bottom of the well! 
Then you had to begin all over again the treadmill 
task of bringing it up! It was supposed to be re- 
markably fresh and pure when it appeared — for evi- 

III 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

dently it had not lingered in any pipe, as no pipe 
existed. 

Sometimes food was hung down the well, country- 
fashion, to keep cool. It was a sad day when the leg 
of mutton dropped in, since herculean efforts were re- 
quired to bring it up. It was naturally mutton which 
made this unlucky descent, for at that time the local 
butcher kept little else. Sometimes my father had 
beef sent down by freight from Boston — only to have 
it seized by the agents of Kinsley's express and car- 
ried to their office. This delayed the meat in transit 
and obliged us to pay express charges without express 
benefit. For this company did not deliver goods at 
Lawton's Valley, nor did we desire to have them do 
so. Hence much friction between Kinsley's express 
and my father. 

Rhode Island mutton and lamb are, or were, very 
good. One day an old friend of my mother's drove 
out from Newport and was invited to stay to midday 
dinner. 

The feelings of the hostess can be imagined when 
the guest oracularly observed, "My grandfather Gray 
could never eat lamb, and I never can !" 

Fortunately there was a little chicken to help out 
the situation. The words of Grandfather Gray be- 
came a byword in our family. Our house was not in 
the valley itself but stood half-way down the slope 
of a hill, being thus protected from the wind that 

blows constantly over the island. Mr. C , who 

sold the place to my father, was the victim of the 
drink habit. Finding him lying prostrate on the 
ground, much the worse for liquor, father poured 

112 



LAWTON'S VALLEY, OUR SUMMER HOME 

away the contents of the jug standing near, and led 
away the man's horse, so that he would be obliged 
to sober up before starting to get a fresh supply of 
rum. 

Some Lowestoft ware marked with the family in- 
itials and some good old furniture, which we bought, 
showed that the family had seen better days. 

The inhabitants of the island, with some notable 
exceptions have suffered from an insular habit of 
intermarriage. This has, we will hope, lessened with 
the invasion of Rhode Island by outlanders, bringing 
prosperity with them. Not long ago, however, when 
a man or woman married "off the island," it was 
mentioned with a certain regret, as being not quite the 
thing to do. The methods of cultivating the soil were 
surprisingly primitive. It was very much run down, 
the principal fertilizer being deceased fish. Car-loads 
of menhaden were scattered broadcast over the fields, 
and left there to rot. Oh, how they smelled to 
heaven! We did not cultivate our land after this 
fashion, but, alas! our neighbors did! Fortunately, 
menhaden became valuable for other purposes and 
their use as a fertilizer was abandoned. 

As Rhode Island was founded by excellent but 
visionary people, refugees from the stern, logical rule 
of the Puritans, its laws are peculiar. On a Fourth 
of July in the 'sixties, I inquired for brandy at an 
apothecary shop in Newport. 

'T'm sorry I can't let you have any, but the laws 
of the state forbid the sale of liquor to females," said 
the salesman. My mortification may be imagined ! 
On my explaining that the brandy was wanted, not 

113 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

for "reveling," but for covering preserves, he kindly- 
sold me some alcohol, declaring it to be "just as good" 
for my purpose. 

Shortly afterward, my purse disappeared, and by 
the advice of friends I had the loss proclaimed by the 
town crier — a quaint old figure with his long beard 
and prehistoric hat. He alternately rang an immense 
bell and "cried" the lost article. His fee was a mod- 
est one, but I never recovered the purse. Was he 
recommended to me as a joke? 

Summers at Lawton's Valley were always delight- 
ful, but we especially enjoyed them when Aunt Louisa 
Crawford brought her children to stay at a neighbor- 
ing farm-house. Marion Crawford, the novelist, wasv 
about two years old when they first came. With his 
three elder sisters, Annie, Jennie, and Mimoli, we 
had many merry times. Wading in the valley brook 
was a favorite pastime. As the stones were very- 
slippery, we frequently fell down, and then appeared 
at the valley home a dripping crowd of little girls. 
As the farm where the Craw fords lived was some 
little distance away, our mother felt it to be her duty 
to provide raiment for her nieces as well as for her 
own children. She found these double drafts upon 
our wardrobe rather trying. Annie, the eldest daugh- 
ter, was full of talent. We were inseparable com- 
panions and had a studio where we painted dolls and 
sets of jewelry — all on paper. 

When she grew older she painted lovely designs in 
flowers. She also published anonymously at least one 
volume of stories which possessed merit. She had 
quite as much talent as her brother Marion, but lacked 

114 



LAIVTON'S VALLEY, OUR SUMMER HOME 

his power of application. Her Prussian Junker 
husband, Baron von Rabe, considered any Hterary 
activities as infra dig. for his wife. My aunt had the 
unspeakable sorrow of losing her second daughter, 
Jennie, when the latter was a young and lovely girl 
of nineteen. Mimoli, the third daughter, became the 
wife of Hugh Fraser, of the English diplomatic ser- 
vice. She is well known as a writer and is a woman 
of much personal charm. One of her sons and one of 
Marion Crawford's have been killed in the present 
war. 

According to family tradition I may claim the 
honor of inventing "Yellers' Day." The observance 
of the day flourished in full vigor only during our 
sojourn at Lawton's Valley. We were accustomed to 
celebrate it on top of the hill behind the house, whence 
we had a view of Narragansett Bay. Our elders did 
not join us, but wisely permitted our activities. Hence 
"Yellers' Day," having no flavor of forbidden fruit, 
fell gradually into innocuous desuetude. The celebra- 
tion described in the following letter has a melancholy 
interest as being in all probability the last of its 
kind. 

August 3, i860. 
Dear Papa, — Wednesday we had some young ladies to spend 
the day and had a jolly time. At sunset we all went up on 
the rocks to yell, for it was the ist of August, "Yellers' Day." 
We made a terrible noise and finally Mamma came to the door 
and said she thought "St. Yeller was satisfied." We had a 
very nice tea, and in the evening, after looking at the moon, 
danced till we were fairly worn out. The evening was wound 
up by Mr. Turner's (the brother of one of the young ladies, 
who came out about 6j<2) knocking one-half of the gate off its 

n5 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

hinges, which accident gave us an opportunity of hopping onto 
the carriage steps and renewing our vows of eternal friend- 
ship besides a great deal of hugging and kissing. 

Thomas Crawford, our uncle by marriage, came to 
*" the valley during one of these summers. He was 
one of the foremost American sculptors of his day, 
ha\ang designed some of the bronze doors at the 
Capitol, also the statue of Liberty that crowns the 
dome of the building. This is familiar to all Ameri- 
cans, since it has been reproduced on our five-dollar 
bills. 

Uncle Crawford had worked beyond his strength 
and complained, that summer, of trouble in one of 
his eyes. I remember an excursion to the shores of 
the Bay, when Albert Sumner, the donor of our don- 
key. Uncle Crawford and my father were of the 
party. The gentlemen amused themselves with 
throwing sticks or stones into the water. This trivial 
scene impressed itself upon my memory because of 
the tragic death, not long afterw^ard, of two of the 
actors in it. Albert Sumner, his wife and daughter 
w^ere at this time planning a trip to Europe. Mr. 
Summer was a stout man, and some one jokingly re- 
marked that fat people make good swimmers. This 
speech was sadly recalled to our minds when the 
steamer in which they sailed, the Lyonnaise, w^ent to 
the bottom with all on board. 

No particulars of their fate were known. It was 
said that in cases of shipwreck the law considered 
that the man would live longer than the woman, be- 
ing stronger physically. Hence he and his heirs would 
inherit property. I notice that the law always has 



LAWTON'S VALLEY, OUR SUMMER HOME 

some very wise reason for favoring the man rather 
than the woman. The heirs of Albert Sumner and 
his daughter could thus have laid claim to such share 
of Mrs. Sumner's property as he would have inher- 
ited, as the supposititious survivor. Charles Sumner 
and his family were not the sort of people to take 
advantage of any such legal quibble. Mrs. Albert 
Sumner was a woman of means and left heirs by a 
former husband, who very properly inherited her 
fortune. 

Uncle Crawford also crossed the ocean, leaving his 
wife and children in America. The slight trouble in 
his eye grew gradually worse. In the midst of a 
winter of unprecedented severity Aunt Louisa started 
to rejoin him. Boston Harbor, whence all Cunard 
steamers then sailed, was frozen solid. It was neces- 
sary to postpone the start until a patch could be 
cut for the ship through the solid ice. In those 
days nothing was supposed to prevent the sail- 
ing of z, Cunarder, but Jack Frost did delay it 
this once. 

Mr. Crawford's illness proved to come from a can- 
cer behind the eye. He died after a long period of 
suffering. 

Aunt Louisa, a woman of a most affectionate and 
sympathetic nature, was much worn with the long 
nursing and overcome with deep sorrow. She re- 
turned to America, dressed in mourning so deep that 
her sisters thought it excessive and unwholesome. It 
was said that her widow's crape veil reached the 
ground, being double up to the eyes, and that her back 
nev^r recovered from the bad effects of sustaining 

17 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

this load of mourning. A photograph of her taken 
at this time was marked "The over-solemn look." 

And yet, after a suitable interval of time, she mar- 
ried again, as the inconsolable usually do. Instead 
of smiling at the fickleness of the human mind, we 
should remember that for persons of a highly sym- 
pathetic nature the loneliness caused by the loss of 
a beloved helpmeet is almost insupportable. They 
must, for their own happiness, find another mate. 
The woman who can live alone, after the loss of her 
husband, is made of sterner stuff. 

Lawton's Valley is on the west side of the island 
of Aquidneck. On the east side lived Mr. Thomas 
R. Hazard — "Shepherd Tom," as he was familiarly 
called — in the historic mansion of "Vaucluse," the 
finest example of Colonial architecture north of Vir- 
ginia. The grounds were worthy of the house. They 
were adorned with a labyrinth of box surrounding a 
sun-dial, and with a number of summer-houses scat- 
tered through groves of trees. 

Mr. Hazard was a remarkable but eccentric per- 
son. He had a genuine love for his fellow-man and 
a hatred of tyranny and oppression. He did great 
service in securing better treatment for the insane in 
Rhode Island, as Dorothea Dix and my father did 
in Massachusetts. 

After the death of his beautiful wife he became 
much absorbed in spiritualism. When we first made 
his acquaintance he was a widower with a delightful 
family of four daughters and one little boy. 

The eldest, Fannie, kept house for her father, while 
a governess instructed the children. Mr. Hazard 



LAWTON'S VALLEY, OUR SUMMER HOME 

was the very soul of hospitality. Relations, young 
and old, made ''Vaucluse" their headquarters for 
long stays during the summer, while friends also paid 
copious visits. 

"Vaucluse" was liable to sudden inroads of aunts 
bringing their six children, even though there were 
already visitors in the house. The hospitality of 
those days was not confined to the South. My mother 
once jestingly said to our nearest neighbor that she 
kept a boarding-house. 

"Well, if you do, then I keep a hotel," replied Mrs. 
Anderson, whose large house was well filled by the 
family connection. To take high tea at "Vaucluse'* 
was always delightful. I should be afraid to say 
how many people sat around the long, well-polished 
mahogany table. Yet there were always plenty of 
hot Indian-meal griddle-cakes, as well as other good 
things, for every one. When there were many guests, 
it was necessary to set the table a second time. Fan- 
nie, who presided over the household, was as hos- 
pitable as her father, but the strain of this heavy 
entertaining was too much for her strength. Her 
housekeeping ideals were high, and servants hard to 
get and to keep. In one of his crusades Mr. Hazard, 
who had been brought up in the Society of Friends 
or Quakers, attacked the Roman Catholic Church. 
This made it more difficult for him to procure ser- 
vants, who, at that time, were almost all Roman 
Catholic Irishwomen. 

So Fannie and her sisters did a great deal of the 
housework themselves. Mr. Hazard was a most de- 
voted father, but, being extremely vigorous himself, 

119 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

he failed to realize that his daughters were of a less 
robust type. All four died before reaching the age 
of forty, three of tuberculosis. 

He himself held various singular beliefs upon 
which he loved to expatiate to his friends. Chief 
among his hobbies was spiritualism. He would quote 
to my mother, as remarkable new truths, views with 
which she, a student of philosophy, was perfectly fa- 
miliar. We were all gathered at the Anderson man- 
sion one evening, to witness a clever exhibition of 
legerdemain by Mr. Elbert Anderson. After wit- 
nessing the various conjuror's tricks, Mr. Hazard 
declared that they were done by spiritualism ! When 
he was with difficulty convinced that they were not, he 
naively observed that just such things were done by 
spiritualists ! Toward the end of his life, when his 
wife appeared to him as a materialized spirit, he 
gladly received some cotton lace from her celestial 
robe ! 

In the efficacy of Brandreth's pills for typhoid 
fever and minor ills he was a fervent believer. Even 
calves he dosed with them. He scorned the aid of 
surgeons, holding that the only persons who could 
properly attend to broken bones were a certain fam- 
ily of Sweets, "natural bone-setters," as they were 
called. In spite of all these eccentricities, he was a 
very intelligent man. His extreme credulity was due, 
in part, to lack of early education. 

Many were the merry picnics that the Howes, 
Hazards and sometimes the Andersons had at the 
"Glen" and at "Paradise." Lawton's Valley itself 
was a favorite place for picnics when my father 

120 



LAWTON'S VALLEY, OUR SUMMER HOME 

bought it. It was soon evident, however, that we and 
the public could not jointly use it, because the latter 
were so extremely inconsiderate. To have your place 
treated like an inn, to have strange omnibuses loaded 
with unknown people arrive without warning at your 
back door, destroys all privacy. The tendency of 
Americans to leave behind unpleasant mementoes in 
the shape of the debris of the feast, and to carry off 
floral tributes, is a thing to be deplored. It is to be 
hoped that our new Anglo-French alliance will teach 
our people to respect private property. 

When the Civil War came, the Naval Academy was 
moved from Annapolis to Newport. The older classes 
were sent to take their part in the conflict, the younger 
remaining at Newport. Their coming brought gay 
doings for the young girls. Weekly hops were held on 
Saturday afternoons, aboard the famous old frigate 
Constitution, To these we all repaired, being rowed 
over in the ship's boats. The dancing took place be- 
tween decks where a very tall man might easily have 
bumped his head. The naval band furnished the 
music, a certain tune giving us a gentle hint to depart 
when the dance was over. 

The midshipmen were extremely young, but so 
were we! I myself was nearly sixteen, but some of 
my partners looked to me like mere children. Others 
were old enough to be "real beaux." However, we 
entered their names on our cards impartially and 
danced with them, young or old, as they came along. 
The gallant and ill-fated De Long was at Newport 
that summer, but I do not remember him among my 
partners. 

121 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

A few young men who were not navy officers came 
to these hops. I remember among the dancers a tall, 
handsome fellow with fair hair. Some of the girls 
disapproved of him, thinking him dandified, because 
he wore a white tie. I, however, admired him and 
learned later, from one of the older girls, that he had 
said complimentary things about me. She did not, 
however, offer to introduce us, nor did I have the 
skill to manage an introduction. Whether dandified 

or not, W T was no slacker, but fought for 

his country on land, as the midshipmen did on the 
sea. 

The next time I met him was on the New York 
boat. As my mother and I boarded it, to go to Bos- 
ton, a figure shrouded in shawls emerged from the 
darkness of the boat, on his way to the shore. It 

was W T returning wounded to his aunf s 

home in Newport, which we had just left. I never 
saw him again, for he went back to the army and was 
killed. So ended this shadow of a war romance ! 

Parties were given for the midshipmen both at 
Lawton's Valley and at "Vaucluse." The ice-cream 
for our entertainment missed connections, so David 
Hall, always obliging, was commissioned to drive to 
Newport and bring it out. Meantime the lady of his 
affections, the present writer, was left to philander 
about with the midshipmen. The feelings of the boy, 
who was not yet sixteen, as he drove the ice-cream, a 
chilling passenger, out in his buggy may be imagined ! 

Our cousin, Louisa Mailliard, a tall, slender girl of 
fourteen, very pretty and very mischievous, was then 
with us. One of the midshipmen, Mr. N , became 

122 



LAWTON'S VALLEY, OUR SUMMER HOME 

desperately infatuated with her. When the omnibus 
containing the young men was starting for Newport, 
he could not refrain from turning and gazing fondly 
at her. 

''Eyes right !" sang out his mates, who made very 
merry over the lovesick swain. 

The landsmen were jealous of the embryo sailors, 
and could not understand the attraction of the latter 
for the young girls. Some of our youthful friends 
arranged an expedition to Fort Adams, where a drill 
of the midshipmen was to be held. Cousin Louisa 
and I were the girls of the party, while the mother 
of one of the boys acted as matron. All went well 
during the sail across the harbor. But no sooner had 
we reached the landing than midshipmen appeared 
and we paired off quite happily, without paying the 
smallest attention to the boys who had brought us 
over. 

This was not polite to our escorts, but we were 
very young and uniforms are ever attractive. Se- 
renely we walked over the fort, the discarded boys 
grumbling ominously in our rear. We were too late 
for the drill, but we had a pleasant promenade, return- 
ing peacefully to our sail-boat. 

As she drew away from the landing, one of the 
boys could contain his feelings no longer. He 
shouted his views of their conduct after the midship- 
men on the wharf, in language sufficiently abusive. 
It was the same boy, David Hall, my future hus- 
band, who was obliged to conduct the ice-cream 
party! He did have a hard time with the mid- 
shipmen ! 

123 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

The girls were extremely indignant. Of course we 
walked with the middies! What did they think we 
went over for? etc., etc. The return voyage was 
rather stormy. It transpired that one of the boys, 
possessed of a meaner spirit than the others, had 
proposed sailing away without us ! 

The midshipmen were transferred later to the 
Atlantic House, one of the chief hotels of Newport 
in the early days. Here also were hops given, but 
they could not compare in fascination with the dances 
on board ship. 

In the following letter sister Julia describes some 
of our "civilian" gaieties: 

Tuesday Morning, Aug. 13, 1861. 

Dear Papa, — . . . We have enjoyed Mrs. Bell and Mrs. 
Pratt 1 exceedingly. What little jewels they are! Mrs. Dorr 
was to have a party for the governor (Andrew) in the evening. 
Mamma decided that it would not be very interesting for us 
girls, so we stayed at home, expecting to entertain Woody, 
who we supposed would arrive in the evening. What was 
our surprise when, at about half-past eight o'clock, a carriage 
arrived whose driver bore a message from Mamma to the effect 
that we were to dress and go into town to Mrs, Dorr's house. 
What cogitation and agitation followed can be only pictured by 
those who have a thorough knowledge of young girls. 

Mrs. Dorr had told Mamma, I believe, that the party would 
be pleasant for us, and that she wished to have us come. So 
there was a confusion and indecision, and brushing, braiding, 
and curling, in our one little room, quite amusing to behold. 
How the best white skirts were whisked about! How poor 
Ann and Mary frisked up and down stairs ! How much had to 
be done before, fully prinked, we squeezed our crape and pifia 
selves into the little rockaway! But it makes even careless me 



1 Daughters of Rufus Choate. 

124 



LAWTON'S VALLEY, OUR SUMMER HOME 

blush to think of the state in which we left our room. What 
mountains of skirts, sleeves, and gowns, with here and there 
a stray comb or pomatum-pot, met the eye of the astonished 
bystander. And yet, — would you believe it? — when we returned 
next day we found the apartment in order. (Oh dear, Papa! 
I never shall finish this letter. Mamma is in the room, and she 
is so witty that I write my words wrong.) Mrs. Pratt and 
Mrs. Bell looked finely, as the graceful diminutive darlings 
always do. . . . In order that they might all get into the 
carriage poor Mamma slipped upstairs and sHpped off her 
crinoline. You cannot imagine how droll her figure looked 
without it. Floss and I slept together and a merry time we 
had. Of course we were somewhat excited by the party, and 
the clock struck half past twelve before we slept. Just think 
of us, your bread-and-butter nine o'clock girls, being so dissi- 
pated ! Mamma was to have had a party this afternoon, but 
the weather is so stormy that no one has come. We all dressed 
ourselves out in our best, but silks would not bring visitors, so 
they have made a pleasant little circle down stairs, and are 
chatting gaily. Ever your loving 

J. 

During the Civil War Portsmouth Grove, some 
three miles away, became a military camp and hos- 
pital. The soldiers often strolled over to Lawton's 
Valley, finding it a pleasant place in which to do their 
laundry work. This somewhat restricted the family's 
use of the valley, although the soldiers were never un- 
civil. 

One of the prominent figures in Newport life 
was that of George Bancroft, the historian. Like 
President Wilson, he was a schoolmaster turned poli- 
tician. He had taught at the famous Round Hill 
School for Boys, and had also held various political 
offices, including that of Secretary of the Navy. 
Hence, if he came on board the Constitution while. we 
9 125 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

were there, our ears were deafened by the official 
salute, sixteen guns, as I think, fired in his honor. 
Greatness certainly has its inconveniences. 

He was already gray when I first remember him, 
but slender and active. Evidently he felt much 
younger than he looked. It was rumored that he 
said to one young lady, ''Call me George/' In a word, 
he was inclined at this time to be "frisky." 

He and his wife set an example of steadfast loyalty 
to the Union, in Newport, where there was a good 
deal of secession sentiment among the summer resi- 
dents early in the Civil War. I remember a party at 
their house, where we school-girls as well as our 
elders ■ were present. We had patriotic recitations, 
everything being done in the pleasant, informal fash- 
ion of that day. It was after this party that my 
mother made her "Remember R n" resolve. 

In a spirit of pure fun, she rallied this gentleman 
on his attentions to one of the young girls present who 

was hardly more than a child. Mr. R solemnly 

asseverated that Mrs. Howe was entirely mistaken. 
On her return home, she declared her intention of 

hanging up a placard reading, "Remember R n," 

as a warning to her never to try to joke with persons 
devoid of a sense of humor. 

Mrs. Bancroft set a good example by substituting 
gray silk or thread gloves for kid during the Civil 
War. She attended the Unitarian church, where 
Rev. Charles T. Brooks then officiated. He was a 
genial and delightful man, whose buoyant spirit made 
it wholly unnecessary to afifect youth. Mr. Brooks 
never seemed to grow old, though he lived to be sev- 

126 



LAWTON'S VALLEY, OUR SUMMER HOME 

enty or more. He was a German scholar and trans- 
lated Goethe's "Faust" into English verse. He en- 
joyed Teutonic humor, preparing for the church fairs 
numerous booklets with little German jokes and il- 
lustrations. 



XI 

ANTI-SLAVERY AND CIVIL WAR MEMORIES 

Deep Interest of My Parents in the Anti-Slavery Movement 
and in the Civil War. — We Learn the Evil of Compromise. — 
A Trip to Kansas. — Manners on the Mississippi Steamboats. 
—Fort Sumter Is Attacked.— Mother^ s Poems of the War.— 
Father's Work on the Sanitary Commission. — How the Flag 
Was Treated at Newport.— We Ride in the "Jeff Davis." 

I CANNOT remember when my father began his 
anti-slavery work, because at that time I was an 
infant. It was the kidnapping of a runaway negro 
in the streets of Boston that roused him to action. He 
called a meeting in Faneuil Hall over which John 
Quincy Adams presided. My father made the prin- 
cipal address. Colonel Higginson tells us that "Every 
sentence was a sword-thrust." The result of the 
meeting was the formation of a Vigilance Committee 
of forty with my father as chairman. Its object was 
to prevent the returning of fugitives to the slavery 
from which they had escaped. To the descendants 
of the men who had fought in the Revolution for the 
cause of Liberty, the thought that "the port of Boston 
had been opened to the slave-trader" was intolerable. 
The records of that Vigilance Committee have 
never been published. It is to be hoped that some 
day they will be, unless they have been destroyed. 
Thomas Wentworth Higginson has told us that my 

128 



ANTI-SLAVERY AND CIVIL WAR 

father's part in the anti-slavery movement was almost 
unique and wholly characteristic of the man, who was 
a natural crusader or paladin. 

The little Howes did not know of the existence of 
this committee. Neither did we know of our father's 
strenuous labors in connection with the election to 
the Senate of his friend Charles Sumner. We were 
too young to be intrusted with state secrets. But 
from our early childhood my father taught us to love 
freedom and to hate slavery. He told us of the suc- 
cessive aggressions of the slave power and of the 
steps by which it had grown to threaten the whole 
land. We learned of the Missouri Compromise, the 
Dred Scott Decision, the Kansas and Nebraska Bill. 

We knew these, not as dry political facts from the 
office of a lawyer, but as the successive invasions of a 
fire that was destined, ere many years had passed, to 
involve our beloved country in the terrible conflagra- 
tion of the Civil War. To my father and his co-work- 
ers in the anti-slavery cause, these successive en- 
croachments of slavery on the territory which the 
framers of our Federal Constitution had declared 
should remain eternally free, were a growing menace 
of evil. He strongly impressed upon our minds the 
sin of compromise of principle. Did he not see, in the 
bloody struggle in Kansas, the sinister results of those 
weak yieldings of the North ? 

The electric current of indignation that thrilled 
through our home we felt very strongly, as we did the 
stir of action. Lowell's lines, splendid in themselves, 
gained a new force and intensity as my father re- 
peated them to us. 

129 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne, 
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim un- 
known, 
Standeth God with the shadow, keeping watch above His own. 

Sometimes I would hear him and his friends talk- 
ing together over the political situation with deep 
earnestness and indignation. Those were exciting 
days. As children, we knew nothing of the approach- 
ing storm, but we felt the stir in the air ! 

Brother Harry, a child of eleven, wrote an indig- 
nant letter, after the capture of John Brown, to Gov- 
ernor Wise of Virginia. As it was couched in abu- 
sive terms, I fear it was never mailed. Since few of 
our young mates agreed with us in opinion, we had 
many arguments. In the early days one of our 
friends at the Stevenson School laughingly called us 
"Little Free-dirters," because we belonged to the 
Free Soil party. As events moved rapidly forward 
feeling grew more intense. We were very indignant 
at the deadly assault in the Senate Chamber upon our 
friend, Charles Sumner. As he sat pinioned down 
by his desk, and so unable to rise, blows with a loaded 
cane were showered upon his head. Some of the girls 
of our acquaintance sought to justify the attack. We 
countered with the testimony of Henry Wilson (later 
Vice-President of the United States), who had wit- 
nessed the scene where a colleague of Preston Brooks 
stood guard, a pistol in either hand, to prevent any 
interference in behalf of Sumner. For a long time, 
the victim's life was in danger. His seat in the Sen- 
ate remained "eloquently empty" for three years. Yet 
Charles Sumner lived to see slavery overthrown and 

130 



ANTI-SLAVERY AND CIVIL WAR 

the United States a free country. Within a year his 
young assailant died of membranous croup. It was 
thought that remorse for his brutal deed hastened his 
death. 

We children heard of Sumner's great sufferings, 
and of the cruel "Mochsa" treatment — the burning 
of his back. 

In the Presidential election of 1856 we were 
greatly interested. I remember a political pro- 
cession in which a dead deer was borne aloft with the 
device, "Old Buck Is Dead." The result of the elec- 
tion was not certain for some time. We held on to 
hope as long as we could. From California no word 
could come for ten days ! I asked my father whether 
the result there might not change the result. He said, 
"No. There is enough to settle the hash without 
California." James Buchanan, the last President of 
the slavery era, had indeed been elected. 

My father was deeply interested in the struggle for 
freedom in Kansas. When the colonists from the 
free states were almost overpowered by the border 
ruffians, he again called a Faneuil Hall meeting 
where money was raised and sent to help the set- 
tlers. He himself went out there, with great risk to 
his life. 

In the spring of 1857 my mother and I accom- 
panied him on one of his trips to Kansas, but, as I 
became ill at Louisville, he went on without us. Part 
of our journey was made on the large steamboats of 
the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers. Great was the hor- 
ror of the other women when my mother took out a 
pack of cards to amuse me. This was owing to the 

13; 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

prevalence of gambling in that section of the country. 
Many years later, in traveling through the Middle 
West, I found this prejudice had not wholly died out. 

There was little to do during the long spring days 
when the steamboats sailed along the great, quiet riv- 
ers. It seemed very strange that every one rushed 
so to get through the meals quickly. As the service 
was table d'hote, it is possible that people hurried in 
order to get all that they could before the food was 
removed. My mother always made a practice of 
eating slowly; hence her excellent digestion. 

On this trip our mother purchased a red toy balloon 
for brother Harry. It was then a novelty and cost 
something like a dollar. As it was affixed to the tail 
of one of our dogs, it did not long survive. We had 
supposed this fascinating object would be a lasting 
investment. 

On our outward journey we stopped overnight at 
Harper's Ferry. I remember climbing the hill and 
looking down upon the valley where the Judas tree 
was in blossom. Did it bloom in somber foreboding 
of the blood to be shed there, a little later, in the John 
Brown raid and in the Civil War? 

I remember too vast engines with which we climbed 
the terrifying slopes of the Alleghanies. No sleeping- 
cars were then to be seen, but only cars with reclining 
chairs. Hence the advisability of traveling by water 
whenever possible. 

At Cincinnati, then the principal city of that part 
of the country and much larger than Chicago, we 
stayed with Mr. and Mrs. William Greene, the former 
g cousin of Grandfather Ward. We visited the ob- 

132 



ANTI-SLAVERY AND CIVIL WAR 

servatory and the Longworths* wine-cellar, where I 
was discovered in a corner, a glass of champagne 
tilted up against my nose. At the age of eleven I 
saw no reason why I should not partake of the wine, 
since they were kind enough to offer it to me. 

My memories of Louisville, Kentucky, are sinister. 
Here we were shown the spot where several negroes 
had been lynched. We also went to court, where a 
man was on trial for the murder of his wife. From 
the appearance of his face, I fancy he must have com- 
mitted the crime while drunk. 

We stayed also at the house of my father^s great 
friend, Horace Mann, then president of Antioch Col- 
lege, a co-educational institution of Ohio. Mrs. Mann 
believed in using cream in cooking, rather than but- 
ter. H you had no cream, you thickened milk with 
flour ! The Manns were "so glad to see us they almost 
ate us up" ! Mrs. Mann was a woman of intellectual 
tastes and interested in good works. She was the 
sister of the wife of Nathaniel Hawthorne and of 
Miss Elizabeth Peabody, who first introduced the 
kindergarten in America. 

Horace Mann himself had a pleasant, kindly face 
and beautiful snow-white hair parted in the middle. 
This had suddenly turned white (in a single night, it 
was said) through grief at the death of his first 
wife. 

In this year, 1857, there was a terrible financial 
panic, of which I heard some echoes. Nickel cents 
were then first coined, replacing the large copper ones 
we had used previously. 

During the winter of 1860-61 we heard rumors of 
133 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

war and secession. Some young friends, the sons of 
Admiral Winslow of Kearsarge fame, had visited the 
South, and assured us that serious preparations were 
going on there. Still, we of the North hardly 
dreamed of the struggle to come. ^Meantime trai- 
torous officials of the federal government were trans- 
ferring supplies of arms to the Southern states, know- 
ing well these would soon be used against the nation's 
life. Officers trained at West Point and bound by 
oath to support the government to which they owed 
not only allegiance, but their education, were resign- 
ing from the regular army and going to the South. 
The North in 1861, like the EngHsh in 19 14, was 
unprepared. Many attempts have been made to dis- 
guise the issue. Fifty years hence, when all the pas- 
sions roused by the Civil War have died away, as I 
pray they may, the truth will stand out clearly. For 
the rest, it was clear enough in 1860-61. As soon as 
the Republican party came into power, on a platform 
declaring, as the framers of the Constitution had de- 
clared, that slavery- should be extended no farther, 
the Southern states seceded. 

My father was one of those who from the very^ be- 
ginning saw the issue clearly. \"\'hen the news of the 
firing on Sumter was received he came, with his 
quick, active step and gallant bearing, into the nursery 
at "Green Peace." crying out to us : 

"Sumter has been fired upon! That's the death- 
blow of slavery!" 

He rejoiced that the irrepressible conflict had 
begun. Of course he did not foresee — who could? — 
that the struggle would be so long and so terrible. 

134 



ANTI-SLAVERY AND CIVIL WAR 

But he knew it must come. Throughout those four 
years he never lost faith that the right would triumph. 
On learning of the attack on Sumter, he wrote at once 
to Governor Andrew : 

Since they will have it so — in the name of God, Amen ! Now 
let all the governors and chief men of the people see to it that 
war shall not cease until emancipation is secure. If I can 
be of any use, anywhere, in any capacity (save that of spy), 
command me.^ 

At the age of sixty, he was too old and too infirm 
in health to take the field as a soldier. But his early 
experiences in Greece enabled him to give valuable 
assistance in safeguarding the health of the army. 
Both Governor Andrew and Abraham Lincoln were 
glad to accept my father's offer of his services. On 
the formation of the Sanitary Commission, he was ap- 
pointed a member of the board. His letters and re- 
ports are expressed in his usual terse and vigorous 
style. 

When Fort Sumter was fired upon a splendid wave 
of patriotism swept over the country. That shot, 
the attack upon the flag, consolidated the men of the 
North as nothing else could have done. "The Union, 
it must and shall be preserved," was the shibboleth 
of the hour. Democrats and Whigs, as well as Re- 
publicans, rallied everywhere to the defense of the 
Union. 

It was said that if the Confederates had kept to 
the old flag, instead of adopting a new one, they 



^ from Journals and Letters of Samuel Gridley Howe. Dana, 
Estes & Co. 

135 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

might have won. Yet we know that was impossible, 
because the corner-stone of the sovereignty they 
sought to estabHsh was human slavery. The politi- 
cians and leaders of thought on both sides knew this 
perfectly well from the beginning. The rank and file 
at first felt it only dimly. But in the Northern army 
the men who were doing the actual fighting were not 
long in doubt as to the real issues of the conflict. 
They sang: 

"John Brown's body lies a-moldering in the ground, 
His soul is marching on." 

Old John Brown, who had died on the gallows that 
men might be free ! They had hanged him and buried 
him in the ground, but his spirit led the Northern 
troops to victory ! The "Battle Hymn of the Repub- 
lic'' was a nobler expression of the idea dimly outlined 
in the John Brown song. 

Reading in later years the accounts written by 
Southern men and women, I have realized that the 
war was never brought home to us in New England 
in the same way as to the people of the South. It 
never came near us, nor did we expect it would. 
Some timid souls were anxious lest the Confederate 
rams should visit our Northern ports. But this was 
only a brief scare. 

While we were spared the grim horrors of actual 
warfare in our midst, almost every aspect of life 
was affected by the four years' conflict. In the spring 
of 1 86 1, on my daily walk to Boston, I saw the posters 
calling for seventy-five thousand troops to serve for 
three months. We heard with deep indignation of 

136 



ANTI-SLAVERY AND CIVIL WAR 

the assault of the plug-uglies on the Massachusetts 
regiments as these passed through Baltimore. Sev- 
eral soldiers were killed — the sons of the Old Bay 
State being the first to shed their blood in defense of 
the Union. 

During the stormy prelude to the Civil War my 
mother had written many verses expressing her in- 
dignation at the crime against Kansas, the attack on 
Charles Sumner, and the treatment of John Brown, 
as well as her hatred of slavery itself. While the war 
was in progress her pen continued active in the cause 
of human freedom and of patriotism. We of the 
younger generation were especially interested in the 
composition of "Our Country" because the music was 
written by our master. Otto Dresel. The song had 
power and dignity, with the swing important in music 
of this sort. A prize had been offered for a national 
song, but I do not think it was ever awarded. To my 
mother's regret, Mr. Dresel afterward decided to 
use the tune as a setting for Oliver Wendell Holmes's 
"Army Hymn." She told him that the words and 
music belonged together and ought not to be di- 
vorced. 

The hour was not yet ripe for the writing of a true 
national song. In these earlier poems we see how 
much my mother was moved by the tragic events of 
the day as the panorama of our national history un- 
folded itself before her eyes. The white heat of emo- 
tion was only reached when she saw the stern realities 
of war — the bivouacs, the camp-fires, the rows of bur- 
nished steel, the hosts of our country's defenders. 
The soul of that army, the army of freedom, took 

137 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

possession of her after that wonderful day when her 
carriage was surrounded by the marching soldiers. 
That night the "Battle Hymn of the Republic'* was 
written. 

So she gave back to the soldiers of the Republic 
their half-expressed aspiration, clothed now in words 
of fire. In every hour of national crisis, whenever 
our country is in danger, those words flame up anew 
in the hearts of men. 

Nor are they for our country only. In this present 
war they have been sung with wonderful effect under 
the great dome of old Saint Paul's in London as well 
as at the battle-front. For the "Battle Hymn of the 
Republic," terrible as it is, is a Christian song. No 
one could have written it who was not familiar with 
the language and imagery of the Bible, Old Testament 
as well as New. It was the daughter of Samuel 
Ward, Puritan, who wrote, "He is trampling out the 
vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored." But 
it was the wife of the old Revolutionist, the man 
whose life had been one long battle in behalf of his 
fellow-men, who wrote, "He has sounded forth the 
trumpet that shall never call retreat." 

"The Flag" was written after the second battle of 
Bull Run. In ante-bellum days Newport had been 
a place of summer resort for Southerners, some of 
whom appeared there during the first year of the war. 
They behaved very badly toward the flag. Women 
would draw aside the full skirts, then universally 
worn, to prevent their touching the Stars and Stripes. 
It was said that in the Episcopal Church, when the 
prayer for the President of the United States was 

138 



ANTI-SLAVERY AND CIVIL WAR 

read, the "Secesh" would rise from their knees to 
mark their dissent, resuming their attitude of de- 
votion at its conclusion. I have always fancied that 
the line, "Salute the flag in its virtue, or pass on where 
others rule," was inspired by the behavior of the 
*'Secesh" toward ''Old Glory." General Dix's famous 
saying, "If any man attempts to pull down the flag, 
shoot him on the spot," was much quoted in those 
days. 

The attitude of the Southerners was very irritat- 
ing. They really supposed themselves to be the 
superiors of the Northern men. The former sub- 
serviency of the latter in political matters was one 
reason of this belief. Another was that constant as- 
sociation with an inferior race, the negroes, had given 
them an exaggerated idea of their own talents and 
capacity. We know now that this was, and still is, 
a great misfortune to them. 

When the members of a certain family expatiated 
in our presence on the whipping the North was 
to receive at the hands of the South we were not 
pleased. 

My mother decided to give them a lesson. At one 
of our Paradise picnics she asked Mrs. David Hall, 
the mother of my future husband^ to personate Amer- 
ica. There was a certain realism in the selection, for 
Mrs. Hall's eldest son, Rowland Mintum Hall, was 
then fighting for our country in the Northern army. 
We crowned her with flowers as the queen of the 
occasion and saluted her with patriotic songs. 

We did not feel very pleasantly toward Jefferson 
Davis, whose ambition had much to do with bringing 

139 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

on the war. A photograph of him, in the likeness of 
the Devil, was circulated, while the soldiers sang : 

"We'll hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple-tree." 

By a strange caprice of fate a carriage intended for 
the President of the Southern Confederacy fell into 
the hands of a Northern abolitionist. Owing to the 
war, the vehicle could not be delivered to Mr. Davis, 
and my father bought it. It was a closed carriage, 
more strongly built than the Confederacy itself, and 
lasted for many years. If we wished to go to New- 
port on a rainy day, some one would say, "Oh, take 
the Jeff Davis, and you won't get wet !" 

For the first two years of the war we were dis- 
heartened by repeated defeats. In McClellan my 
father never believed, and we were glad when he 
was displaced. 

After a long period of anxious waiting we were 
rejoiced by the taking of Vicksburg and the victory' 
over Lee at Gettysburg, all on one glorious Fourth 
of July. The tide had turned at last! 



xn 



WORK FOR THE SOLDIERS 

Knitting and Scraping Lint. — Sewing-circles. — Fairs for the 
Army and the Navy. — "The Boatswain's Whistle." — Mrs. 
Harrison Gray Otis. — Visiting the Camp at Readville. — 
Governor N. P. Banks. — Governor John A. Andrew. — 
Parade of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery. — Death of 
Little Sammy. — Assassination of Lincoln. — My Father Serves 
on the Freedmen's Commission. 

WORK for the soldiers began promptly. In the 
general enthusiasm for knitting some one 
asked our minister, the Rev. James Freeman Clarke, 
whether it was right to do this work on Sunday. 
Any lingering doubts vanished when he returned 
home and found his wife, a woman of saintly char-* 
acter, lying down to rest, her needles still flying! 
Plain knitting I had mastered long before, but now I 
learned to make stockings. My first pair were by no 
means mates. As I learned to knit better, and so more 
loosely, the second stocking bloomed to a tremendous 
size! I could only survey it sadly in the fond hope 
that shrinking in hot water might reduce it to the 
size of its companion. 

We all scraped lint and there were sewing-circles 
in the afternoon and in the evening. The latter were 
the more festive, gentlemen coming in after our work 
was done. 

10 141 



y 



v/ 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

The Sanitary Commission then occupied much the 
same position that the Red Cross does to-day. Wo- 
men showed the greatest zeal in working for it, 
though their efforts were not always wisely directed. 

The great patriotic fairs were a striking feature 
of war-days. The one held in New York for the 
benefit of the Sanitary Commission was the largest 
of all. The tremendous labor involved killed the 
noble woman who took a leading part in it. Boston 
also held a great bazaar for the benefit of the Na- 
tional Sailors' Home, in which we assisted my mother. 
She was editor of the fair newspaper. The Boat- 
swain's Whistle. I remember the discussion of the 
title with William Morris Hunt, the artist, who imi- 
tated the action of the boatswain piping up aloft. He 
possessed the power to present, in this way, pictures 
which his striking head and figure made perfect. 
Doubtless he would have made a fine actor. 

At the head of the little newspaper stood the device 
of the boatswain designed by Mr. Hunt. My mother 
had the assistance of some of our best-known writers, 
but the responsibility and the heaviest share of labor 
she bore herself. Mr. James C. Davis helped in the 
work of arranging the paper, but it was necessary also 
to employ a professional person who understood the 
technicalities of the "make-up." 

The Great Fair was held in the Boston Theater, 
and lasted some ten days. Every variety of object 
was sold there — many by means of raffles. It seemed 
fitting that there should be a table for the sale of our 
paper. We of the younger generation duly estab- 
lished ourselves in charge of it — selling also station- 

142 



WORK FOR THE SOLDIERS 

ery and small articles. We thought it all great fun. 
I am ashamed to think how much we tormented Mrs. 
Hooper, the lady at the head of the fair management, 
for our various small needs. 

Mrs. Harrison Gray Otis, who occupied a unique 
position in the Boston society of that day, was prom- 
inent among the women who worked for the national 
cause. She had been beautiful in her youth, but re- 
tained no vestige of good looks that were perceptible 
to the clear, cruel eyes of youth. I could hardly be- 
lieve my father when he told us of her former sylph- 
like slenderness. 

For many years she gave a reception on the 
morning of Washington's Birthday, which the 
whole world of society attended. My mother took us 
once, when we found Mrs. Otis arrayed in a low- 
necked black dress, with a black velvet head-dress.' 
Her black hair was arranged in puffs or bandeaux 
coming down over the ears, a style extremely unbe- 
coming to the lined face of an elderly woman. Mrs. 
Otis was tall and dignified, standing to receive her 
guests. The entire house was thrown open to visi- 
tors, who wandered up and downstairs at will. 

It already has been said that my father was too old 
for military service. Brother Harry was too young, 
being only thirteen when war broke out. The only 
near relatives who joined the army were two cousins 
of my mother, William Greene Ward and John 
Ward, and my father's nephew, Thomas Beale Wales, 
Jr. Fortunately, none of the three was wounded. 
The two Wards were taken prisoner at Harper's 
Ferry, but were paroled. 

143 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Many of the young men of our acquaintance joined 
the army, some of them never to return. A sad case 
was that of CharHe Hickhng, whose sHght frame held 
a heroic spirit. In spite of his frail physique, he in- 
sisted on enlisting, only to return hopelessly broken 
in health. He died not long afterward. 

Tragedies were all around us. I was staying with 
my dear friend, Alice Weld, at Jamaica Plain, when 
news arrived of the capture of her brother, Stephen 
Minot Weld, Jr. The anxiety of his father may be 
imagined, yet he took the blow bravely. The hor- 
rors of the Southern prisons made confinement there 
a thing to be greatly dreaded. Libby was bad enough, 
but of Andersonville one cannot speak or think with- 
out deep indignation. I shall never forget the ap- 
pearance of Arthur Sedgwick soon after his return 
from a Southern prison. With great black hollows 
under his eyes, he looked like a walking ghost. 

Another tragic picture comes to my mind. We 
were passing the day quietly at Lawton's Valley when 
suddenly a distracted figure appeared among us. It 
was that of Mrs. McDonald — "D.D.," as we affection- 
ately called her — the matron of the School for Idiots. 
Her hair, always neatly arranged, was now blown by 
the wind and wet with the rain, but she was too deeply 
moved to think of that. She had braved the storm 
and come, in an open wagon, to seek help and comfort 
from the "Doctor'^ — a tower of strength to all who 
knew him. Her adored eldest son, serving on the 
Christian Commission, had been taken prisoner. 
After a time he came back to her, only to die a year 
or two later of tuberculosis. Like many other per- 

144 



WORK FOR THE SOLDIERS 

sons at that time, Mrs. McDonald found comfort in 
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps's "Gates Ajar." This was 
written, it will be remembered, after the author her- 
self had passed through the bitterest sorrow. 

From the window of Miss Clapp's school in Boston 
we saw the funeral cortege of Arthur Dehon Hill, who 
had been killed in the war. At the time we knew the 
family very slightly. A thoughtless school-girl, I lit- 
tle realized what death and sorrow meant. Six months 
later, when my own little brother died, I learned the 
sad lesson which all must learn for themselves. 

Visits to the camp at Readville, near Boston, were 
the order of the day, but, according to etiquette, these 
were made very sparingly. It was said of the Misses 

X that they went so often the officers could 

hardly find time to change their clothes ! 

One of our friends arranged an expedition for us, 
our chaperon agreeing to join us in Readville. This 
young girl was terribly pestered by aunts, of whom 
she possessed eleven. She was wont to complain that 
wherever she went, an aunt was sure to appear on the 
scene ! 

One of the eleven heard of the proposed expedi- 
tion, and jumped to the conclusion that a chaperon in 
the hand was worth several in the bush. Accordingly, 
when our carriage started for Readville, another, con- 
taining the aunt and her fellow-conspirators, followed 
close behind. This greatly fretted our young com- 
panion, who, at the age of twenty, felt she was too 
old to need supervision. The expected chaperon 
failed to appear and the troublesome aunt serenely 
took charge of our expedition. 

145 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Among the members of the Vigilance Committee 
mentioned earlier in this chapter was John Albion An- 
drew. 

One of the occasions when I remember seeing 
the man who was afterward the great war Governor 
of Massachusetts was at the parade of the Ancient 
and Honorable Artillery. In ante-bellum days this 
event elicited popular interest and was conducted with 
some formality. It was held on Boston Common, 
where the Governor reviewed the troop. The An- 
cient and Honorable Artillery Company has the 
unique distinction of consisting wholly of former of- 
ficers of other militia companies. They wear a mot- 
ley variety of uniforms, producing a picturesque but 
singular effect. 

Nathaniel P. Banks, a fine-looking man with thick, 
iron-gray hair, was at this time Governor of the 
state. His imposing and martial air enabled him to 
appear to advantage at a military festival. His deep 
voice and good delivery made him effective as a 
speaker in a day when oratory was still highly con- 
sidered. As a warrior he was not a success. 

My mother used to tell us, with a mischievous air, 
a story of his experience in the army. On receiving 
a report that the enemy was attacking in force, he 
replied, laconically: 

''Let them he repulsed forthwith.'' 

I remember how jolly and merry Mr. Andrew was 
as we stood, a party of plain citizens, in the throng 
that pressed as near as they could to the rope which 

146 



WORK FOR THE SOLDIERS 

divided us from the glory of uniforms blazing within 
the charmed circle. In those early days our beloved 
friend was the most delightful companion, brimful of 
fun, singing comic songs and telling funny stories,' 
to the great delight of the Howe children. I rememr 
ber hearing him repeat with gusto a ridiculous mock 
sermon from the text, "And they shall flee unto 
the mountains of Hepsidam, where the lion roar- 
eth and the whangdoodle mourneth for its first- 
born." 

Although he amused us with the "flatboat" sermon, 
he was a truly religious man whose sympathies were 
by no means limited to his own sect. 

In figure he was short and stout. His round, 
smooth face, fair, close-curling hair, and blue eyes, 
reminded one of a benevolent cherub in spectacles. 
His mouth was like a woman's, it was so pretty and 
sensitive, yet, when the occasion called for it, his 
face never lacked the dignity of expression springing 
from serious and noble purpose. 

We were present at his inauguration as Governor, 
and also on the occasion when he received, on behalf 
of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, the gun that 
had belonged to Theodore Parker's grandfather. 
This was one of the guns that fired, at the battle of 
Lexington, the shot heard around the world. Gov- 
ernor Andrew, filled with an emotion shared by the 
audience, kissed the weapon as he was about to give 
it up. Whereupon Vanity Fair, the comic newspaper 
of the period, published an absurd cartoon represent- 
ing the audience weeping floods of tears and waving 
their handkerchiefs, the people in the pit holding up 

147 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

umbrellas to ward off the briny stream dropping from 
the galleries! 

In the days before he took office, Governor Andrew- 
had been a familiar and delightful friend who came 
often to "Green Peace" and visited us also at Law- 
ton's Valley. Mrs. Andrew, who was a very pretty 
woman, usually accompanied him. His son, John 
Forrester, a pretty, fair-haired boy, later a member 
of Congress, we often saw, as well as the daughters. 
Elizabeth, or Bessie, looked very much like her father, 
and was said to be like him in character, Edith was 
a great friend of my sister Maud. 

After our friend became Governor and the Great 
Rebellion cast its dark shadow — the shadow of the 
cross — upon his path, we saw him less frequently. 
The cares of office weighed heavily upon him in those 
terrible days of the war. We began to miss him from 
his accustomed seat in the Church of the Disciples — 
he could not even go to church because so many peo- 
ple followed and waylaid him with their endless pe- 
titions. We heard with indignation of the box of 
copperhead snakes sent him by some wicked person. 

Toward the close of the war my mother and I had 
the pleasure of going, as members of the Governor's 
party, to the Agricultural Fair and Ball at Barnstable. 
Usually the cadets accompanied him as escort, but 
this time the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Com- 
pany were chosen for the honor. We were disap- 
pointed at the exchange, for the Independent Corps of 
Cadets contained a number of young men whom we 
knew. However, the "Ancients" undeniably fur- 
nished a sufficient number of partners. This affair 

148 



WORK FOR THE SOLDIERS 

has been described in my mother's Reminiscences and 
in her Life. 

One verse in her humorous account of it records 
the leniency of Governor Andrew: 

Governor A. won't hang for homicide, 

That's a point that bothers us all. 
He must banish ever from his side 

Such as murdered the Barnstable Ball. 

Our friend had received some criticism for refus- 
ing to sign the death warrant of a condemned mur- 
derer. He justified his action on the legal ground 
that, since the man had been judged only on his own 
confession, it was not right to hang him without a 
full and fair trial. When the war was over, Gover- 
nor Andrew retired to private life, resuming the 
practice of his profession. The strain upon him had 
been tremendous. He laughingly said : "It's nip and 
tuck. I may bust my boiler, or I may not." Alas! 
A stroke of apoplexy carried him off while still under 
fifty years of age. He was as much a victim of the 
Civil War as if he had died on the field of battle. 

On the morning of Saturday, April 19, 1865, came 
the terrible news of the assassination of Abraham 
Lincoln and of the murderous attack on Secretary 
Seward and his son. Evidently there was a plot on 
foot to kill the chief officials of the national govern- 
ment. To the deep sorrow at the death of the beloved 
President was added the fear of the unknown evils 
threatening us and great indignation at the dastardly 
deed. How wide-spread the plot might be we did 
not know. Grief for the death of Lincoln was the 

149 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

predominant feeling. The sudden and tragic ending 
of his career showed his countrymen, as by a flash 
of Hght, the nobihty of his character and the magni- 
tude of what he had accompHshed. 

Even the London Punch, which had jeered at the 
cause of the North during the Civil War, now made 
such atonement as was possible. I quote a verse of 
the poem by Douglas Jerrold : 

The Old World and the New, from sea to sea, 
Utter one voice of sympathy and shame I 

Sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat high; 
Sad life, cut short just as its triumph came. 

I do not believe our country has ever shown such 
universal signs of mourning. As my father and I 
rode on horseback about the suburbs of Boston, we 
saw house after house draped with black and white, 
some of the decorations being very elaborate. For a 
long time the countryside was swathed in mourning. 

The day after Lincoln's death was Easter Sunday. 
In our own Church of the Disciples the pulpit was 
draped with purple cloth and adorned with flowers. 
In the afternoon I attended the services of the Church 
of the Advent, in which my friend, Louise Darling, 
was much interested, an Episcopal church of strongly 
ritualistic tendencies. There were no signs of mourn- 
ing and no mention of the national sorrow! This 
seemed to me very heartless. 

Meanwhile the assassin was at large. It was a most 
dramatic as well as a most terrible time in our his- 
tory. I read the newspapers — doubtless every one did 
—with the greatest interest. Here the story gradually 

150 



WORK FOR THE SOLDIERS 

unfolded itself, culminating in the trial and execution 
of Mrs. Surratt and the other conspirators. I re- 
member wading through endless testimony, the 
question whether Edward Spingler did or did not 
wear a mustache being much discussed. 

In spite of his crime, I felt a pang of pity for 
Wilkes Booth when I read of his tragic death. It 
was necessary that he should be shot down, like a 
creature at bay, but the attendant circumstances, the 
firing through the cracks of the barn, lent additional 
ignominy to his fate. 

While we were still living at "Green Peace" our 
youngest brother, Samuel Gridley Howe, Jr., was 
bom. He was a fine, large baby, weighing twelve 
pounds at birth. Soon after his arrival in this world 
(on Christmas Day, 1859), ^^^ while our mother 
was still confined to her room, several of us were 
attacked with scarlet fever. The great danger of con- 
tagion from this disease was not then clearly under- 
stood. My father inquired of Mr. Gardner, head- 
master of the Boston Latin School, whether he wished 
brother Harry, who had not contracted the fever, to 
remain away. Mr. Gardner decided it would be safer 
for the boy to do so. The breaking out of smallpox 
at the Idiot School, of which my father retained the 
supervision, brought my mother a new anxiety. 
Would it come to her, and was it, as she had heard, 
fatal in confinement cases? Fortunately, our house- 
hold escaped the disease and the scarlet fever left no 
bad effects behind. 

Little Sammy was a beautiful and healthy child, yet 
he fell a victim to diphtheritic croup in May, 1863, 

151 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

when he was three and a half years old. His death 
brought me the first realization of the meaning of 
sorrow. We had lost my father's sister, our kind and 
devoted Aunt Lizzie, two years earlier, but the loss of 
little Sammy was a much greater bereavement. I 
could not understand then, nor do I now, the point 
of view which those persons take who declare that 
it is a beautiful thing for a little innocent child to 
leave this world and go to heaven. I felt, at seven- 
teen, as I do at seventy, that it is contrary to the laws 
of nature for a child to die. It is the saddest death of 
all, for the little one has been cut off untimely from the 
life on this earth that his Creator meant him to enjoy. 

As this was my first experience of deep sorrow, it 
brought me the first knowledge of the beautiful human 
sympathy without which grief would be unendurable. 
Friends and relatives gathered about my stricken 
parents, helping them to bear the dull burden of grief. 
It made my father seriously ill ; indeed, he grieved for 
the boy to the end of his life. My mother, like most 
women, was able to give more expression to her sor- 
row. After her death we found a little book of verses 
and a letter written to her lost darling, in which she 
poured out her grief. 

In her journal are many mentions of the little boy, 
showing how his memory dwelt in her heart through- 
out her life. 

Fortunately for my father, he had on hand a task 
of wide importance in connection with the recently 
freed slaves. From the beginning of the war he had 
labored to bring about the freeing of the negroes. It 
had not been five months in progress when he called 

152 



WORK FOR THE SOLDIERS 

a meeting of anti-slavery men at his office' "to take 
into consideration measures tending to the emancipa- 
tion of slaves as a war policy/' This resulted in the 
formation of the Emancipation League, the Common- 
wealth being once more brought to life as its organ. 
As my father's duties on the Sanitary Commission 
took him frequently to Washington, in 1861-62, he 
was able to urge upon the President the necessity of 
emancipating the negroes. 

But he well understood that so tremendous a change 
involved the making of preparations beforehand. 
In September, 1862, the month when Lincoln issued 
the Emancipation Proclamation, we find him writing 
from Washington to a friend of his plan for the 
creation of a bureau to inquire into the actual condi- 
tion of the freedmen, their wants and their capacities. 
In 1863 Stanton, then Secretary of War, appointed 
a Freedmen's Inquiry Commission, the members of 
it being my father, Robert Dale Owen, and James 
McKay. 

So, when we came to New York for a change of air 
and scene, shortly after little Sammy's death, we 
found my father busy in the office of the commission, 
in spite of his sufferings from the gout. 

It was always his policy to gather facts and knowl- 
edge before taking action. Hence the many reforms 
which he instituted were lasting. They were not built 
for a day, and as he took no thought of his own glori- 
fication, no personal element deflected them from the 
right track. 

Evidently it was important to ascertain what the 
negroes had done with their freedom in other Eng- 

153 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

lish-speaking countries. So the commission thor- 
oughly investigated conditions in the Province of 
Ontario (then Canada West), where twenty thousand 
colored people were living, and made an exhaustive 
report. 

The labors of the Freedmen's Inquiry Commission 
were those of a pioneer body. They were carried on 
later by the Freedmen's Bureau. 



XIII 

THE BRIGHTER SIDE OF LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 

How We Dressed and Danced in the 'Sixties. — War Prices. — 
Mrs. Jared Sparks. — Visit of the Russian Fleet. — The Brain 
Club. — Oliver Wendell Holmes. — Ralph Waldo Emerson. — 
William R. Alger. — William M. Hunt. — "Mamma's Owls." — 
William and Henry James. — A Clever Group of Society 
Women. — A Historic Nose-pulling. 

IN Boston, your age is always carefully calculated 
in accordance with the year of your debut in 
society and the sewing-circle to which you belong. 
In case of doubt, the maximum number of years are 
unfailingly attributed to you. I had the fortune, bad 
or good, to come half-way between two sets, and 
therefore to belong to neither of them. Our mother, 
who liked to give her daughters a little glimpse of 
society, took us to a few informal occasions while 
we were still at school. The exact Boston mind was 
therefore baffled in the very beginning as to our true 
age. 

At school all the girls in my class were older than I, 
except my friend, Louise Darling. Sister Julia and I 
were so nearly of the same age that in our school-girl 
days, as in those of our childhood, we went to parties 
together. Hence, when she began to go into society 
it was rather hard for me to stay behind, although 
I was only seventeen and still at school. By this 

155 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

time the unwisdom of exaggerating your age had 
appealed to my Boston soul, which was greatly torn 
during that winter. The older set, a number of whose 
members had been classmates at school, w^ere now 
in society. As by a flash of light, I saw the dangers 
of my position, and drew back before it was too late. 
I joined the dancing-class of the younger set — the 
girls not yet out — although at school there had been 
little commerce between us. 

When a dance was given at our house, sister Julia 
should really have had all the honors. But she cared 
little for dancing, while I w^as very fond of it. One 
of my special friends, Charlie Longfellow, the poet's 
eldest son, was my partner for the german. I carried 
a large bouquet and altogether had a royal time. Julia 
danced with Mr. Braggiotti, a Greek gentleman, and 
no doubt their conversation was less frivolous than 
ours. Charlie Longfellow ran away to the war not 
long afterward. 

When the time for my real entrance into society 
came, in the following year, there were only three 
other debutantes, namely, the Misses Sara P. Lowell, 
Cora Crowninshield, and Clara Gardner. Obviously 
no sewing-circle could be formed for us, so I joined 
that of the older set. Instead of the handsome lunch 
now customary at the meetings of these societies, we 
enjoyed a modest repast, consisting exclusively of 
bread and butter in endless variety — crumpets, brown 
bread, biscuits, etc., with tea or chocolate. It was 
served at eleven or twelve o'clock in the forenoon, 
dinner being at half past two. 

With gold going always higher, the price of every- 
156 



LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 

thing soared in the 'sixties, as in the present war. 
The sad part of it was that they did not come down 
until years afterward. The highest point reached by 
gold was three hundred, but, although it dropped 
later, prices did not. They were so sensitive as to 
respond instantly to any rise, but were entirely unaf- 
fected by a fall of the precious metal. This seemed 
to me very unfair. With occasional help from my 
mother, I had bought my own clothes after reaching 
the age of fifteen, when I was given an allowance for 
dress. 

It was indeed a problem for the girls of those days 
to dress suitably, when everything was so dear. Some 
of my friends bought braid and made their own straw 
hats. The price of kid gloves — even the short ones 
then usually worn — was so high that certain girls with 
skilful fingers made their own. We also made our 
own undersleeves and even a few linen collars. The 
enormous hoops of this period required a large 
amount of material for the skirts of gowns, especially 
as these were not gored, the entire fullness being gath- 
ered or plaited at the waist-line. When certain girls 
first appeared at the Assemblies, it was said that their 
skirts were six yards in circumference! Our hoops 
were not quite so large as this, but they were terrific in 
size, especially for evening dress. For a lady to enter 
an omnibus at that time was no easy matter. Fortu- 
nately, our wire cages were very light and elastic. 
You had to be ver}^ careful, however, when you sat 
down in a crowded car, to pull up the hoop behind, as 
otherwise it would stick straight out in front! At 
one time these great bird-cages were arranged so that 
" 157 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

they teetered back and forth as you moved along. 
The skirts, which were long, were then looped up 
gracefully in scallops, when you walked abroad, show- 
ing your balmoral, or ornamental petticoat of woolen 
cloth. The balmorals were often pretty, and did 
prevent our skirts from trailing in the gutter. They 
were much more economical, also, than the starched 
white skirts which preceded them. 

But, oh, how sad it was when each succeeding year 
brought an expansion in the circumference of our 
gowns, obliging us to discard these before they were 
half worn out ! It is my firm belief that the persons 
who set the fashions purposely change them in such 
a way as to promote as much as possible the casting 
away of half-worn garments and the purchase of new 
ones. 

Fortunately, there were ingenious dressmakers in 
the 'sixties who could do wonders in the way of com- 
bination, a fine new dress coming out of two old ones. 
The fashion of making evening dresses of tarlatan 
and similar diaphanous materials enabled young girls 
to have a number of gowns for a relatively small 
price. True, many layers of the stuff were necessary 
— but the construction, with a little help from the 
dressmaker, was easy, thus lessening the expense of 
labor. You can take grand large stitches in tarlatan 
and they will not show ! 

We made many of our own bonnets, also, some 
clever girls actually quilting the silk in diamonds in- 
stead of buying it ready made. It must have been 
a hideous material, but we admired it when it was in 
fashion. This reminds me that among my early 

158 



LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 

memories are those of certain very old gentlemen in 
Boston wearing high hats and overcoats of quilted 
silk! 

Our ball dresses were made with bodice cut moder- 
ately low, a long point in front and at the back and 
full sleeves reaching half-way to the elbow. The ef- 
fect of these pointed waists over the full skirts was 
certainly elegant. Somebody had to lace you up be- 
hind, for obviously you could not do this yourself. If 
you were clever, you could undo the lacing on your 
return home from the ball. The Assemblies, usually 
held in Papanti's Hall, were the backbone of the 
winter's entertainments for the young set, although 
there were always private dances also. 

In that primitive day a book was sent around to 
the families who were considered eligible as sub- 
scribers for the Assemblies. Boston was then ex- 
tremely stern in its construction of who should and 
who should not have the privilege of entering their 
names on this sacred scroll. 

My mother, always generous in such matters, asked 
to have the book sent to certain people who had not 
hitherto been subscribers, although they were descend- 
ants of a good old family. Her request was not 
granted, probably because it was suspected that the 
husband had engaged in some financial transaction 
not altogether in accordance with the Puritan notions 
of uprightness. 

The young people of the 'sixties owed a debt of 
gratitude, which they did not fully recognize, to Mrs. 
Jared Sparks, the wife of the historian. The unique 
form of her entertainments disturbed the convention- 

159 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

ality of the youthful mind. The good lady's motive 
was doubtless to prevent boredom by carrying out 
conceptions of striking originality. As we did not live 
in Cambridge, we were not invited to the pencil party, 
nor to that where, all the chairs being removed, the 
guests sat on the floor. But I did go to the famous 
the dansant which Boston discussed long and vigor- 
ously. 

Mrs. Sparks thought it would be a pleasant thing 
to give a party early in the evening, where the young 
people could dance till midnight and then go home. 
So she asked us to a the dansant at Papanti's Hall 
to which we went, and had a very good time. Choco- 
late and cake were quite sufficient for the dancers, but 
Mrs. Sparks had not calculated the probable feelings 
of the dowagers. They found it hungry work to sit 
and watch other people dance and highly disapproved 
of the simple repast. As time went by, low and deep 
were the murmurings. Even the quality of the cake 
was unkindly called in question. Mrs. Sparks's 
friends sent a sample, it was said, to a lady of the op- 
posite faction, so that the latter might see for herself 
the excellent quality of the butter and eggs. But she 
declared it was now so stale (for the controversy 
lasted for days or even weeks) she could tell nothing 
about the ingredients ! 

Mrs. Sparks's original turn of mind also showed 
itself in the dealings with her children. One of the 
daughters had a will of her own and it was sometimes 
necessary to discipline her. This was done by taking 
a tuck in her dress, thus doubly punishing her ; she had 
the mortification of appearing in childish array at an 

i6o 



LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 

age when every girl desires to seem grown up, and 
she was obHged also to betray to all friends and 
acquaintances the fact that she had been naughty. 
You had only to look at her skirts to know what her 
behavior had been. 

The historian himself sometimes came to dances. 
From the expression of his countenance, I am sure 
he did not enjoy them. The top of his head was 
bald, yet the curly hair at the sides stood out in a way 
to show that it had once been thick. If you had any 
doubt of it, you had only to look at the tremendous 
crop of curly hair belonging to his son. 

His harassed air made it evident that he had come 
in a spirit of parental resignation, not in one of joy. 
A legend of that time described Mr. and Mrs. Sparks 
driving together on a hot summer's day. As the 
horse showed signs of fatigue, Mr. Sparks suggested 
stopping. ''Drive on, Mr. Sparks," replied the lady, 
majestically. After two or three similar stoppages 
the horse fell down dead ! 

Most of our dancing partners were Harvard stu- 
dents, with a sprinkling of older men and returned 
soldiers. Two of these. Col. Francis Palfrey and 
Capt. William Horton, had been wounded in the arm, 
so that the latter was held in a sling. This did not 
prevent their dancing, however. 

One of our amusements was going on board war- 
ships, not only those of our own navy, but on Swedish 
and Russian vessels as well. 

The visit of the latter to American waters was one 
of the political and social events of the day. Among 
the hostesses who gave dances for the officers were 

i6i 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Mrs. Storer of Cambridge, our aunt, Mrs. Joseph 
N. Howe, and our mother. We were also invited to' 
dances on board the Russian ships and to services of 
the Orthodox Church held there. 

Uniforms are always attractive to young women. 
When worn by handsome young foreigners the charm 
is doubled. My special partner, being in the engineer- 
ing department, wore silver instead of gold decora- 
tions. He was nicknamed ''Cranberry Cheeks" by the 
family. As neither of us could speak the language 
of the other, our conversation was carried on entirely 
in French. Now my education in this language at 
school had not dwelt especially on the sentimental 
side, so that the explanation of words was occasion- 
ally necessary. However, I always succeeded in 
grasping the idea. 

We were very sad when the Russian fleet sailed, 
taking away all our delightful friends. 

Among the pleasant entertainments of the 'sixties 
w^ere those given by the Brain Club, as it was popu- 
larly called. 

My mother's position in it might fitly be de- 
scribed as ''Queen of the Revels," for she devised and 
helped carry out many of the programs. We of the 
younger generation were allowed to attend some of 
the meetings. William Hunt, the artist, took part in 
a most ridiculous burlesque of a tourney, where he 
and his competitor, Hamilton Wilde, mounted on 
pasteboard hobbyhorses, engaged in a deadly encoun- 
ter, prancing meanwhile about the drawing-room. 
Mrs. Charles Homans, as the Queen of Love and 
Beauty, wore a wonderful wig made of raveled tow. 

162 



LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 

Mr. Hunt, being overthrown, toppled over, pretend- 
ing to be mortally wounded, and a leech was sum- 
moned to prescribe for him. Mr. Jere Abbott, wear- 
ing a long false nose, took this part admirably, making 
many absurd inquiries of the patient : "Have any of 
your wife's family suffered from this disease?'* etc! 

Another burlesque was that of the trio in the opera 
of ''Lucrezia Borgia." Mr. Otto Dresel played the 
air on the piano, while my mother enacted the title 
role. Hamilton Wilde represented her son, Gennaro, 
while the Duke's part was taken by William Hunt, if 
I remember aright. All three joined hands in a line, 
keeping time to the music with exaggerated operatic 
motions. Mr. Wilde indicated his sufferings from 
poison, before the arrival of the antidote. It was 
extremely funny. 

At our house in Chestnut Street the Brain Club was 
entertained by two charades written by my mother, 
"Pandemonium" and "Catastrophe." 

For "Cat" a scene was adapted from the classic but 
terrible story of Atreus and Thyestes. The unfor- 
tunate owner of the animal has it served up to her in 
a pie. After she has eaten it the dreadful nature of 
the pasty is revealed to her ! 

For "Ass" the second syllable, we acted the scene 
from "Midsummer Night's Dream," where Titania 
makes love to Bottom. Mr. James C. Davis took the 
latter part, wearing an ass's head borrowed from the 
theater, while I took that of the Fairy Queen. 

My mother was always proud of our small accom- 
plishments. Her journal says that Flossy looked 
beautiful. Doubtless I did — to her maternal eyes, 

J63 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

The President of the Brain Club was called Mrs. 
Josiah Quincy, Jr., because her husband's father, a 
very old gentleman, was still living. The four gener- 
ations, all having the same name, had their photo- 
graphs taken in a group when the youngest was only a 
babe in arms. This carrying on of the family name 
appeals to sentiment, but is not convenient in prac- 
tice. The third Josiah Quincy, finding unutterable 
confusion in his mail, adopted a middle initial in self- 
defense. He thus became Josiah P. Quincy. His 
brother, Samuel Quincy, fought in the Civil War. 

Their sister, Mary Quincy, had a fine contralto 
voice. We often saw her and her husband. Prof. 
B. A. Gould, as well as her parents, Mr. and Mrs. 
Josiah Quincy, Jr. I remember the former as a hand- 
some man with beautiful snow-white hair and whisk- 
ers. These had turned prematurely, as he was still a 
vigorous man who took the trouble to make himself 
agreeable to the young. Perhaps this was owing to 
his political experience, for he had been Mayor of Bos- 
ton. The house in Park Street was one of a series 
of spacious, pleasant residences, occupied by the Low- 
ells, the Thomas AA^ards, the Misses Quincy, and 
other worthies of Boston. The last-named ladies 
were sisters of the ex-Mayor. Both he and they had 
pleasant summer places in Quincy, one of which has 
now become the Quincy ]\Iansion School for Girls. 

Unitarianism, as all the world knows, became firmly 
intrenched in Boston in the early part of the nine- 
teenth century. Many Puritan ideals still prevailed, 
however, especially with regard to the observance of 
Sunday. Certain persons adhered to the idea that 

164 



LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 

no gay doings should take place on Saturday evening, 
that time being devoted to preparation for the Sab- 
bath. These were usually plain people. Indeed, some 
individuals went so far as to disapprove of the cele- 
bration of Christmas. It was not uncommon to sub- 
stitute New Year's Day as the time to exchange pres- 
ents. The students at Harvard College were obliged 
to go to all the services of whatever church they at- 
tended. Hence many of them selected our church, 
that of the Disciples, since here there was only one 
service on Sunday. During the week, attendance at 
morning chapel was compulsory, the hour being six 
and in later years seven o'clock. Small wonder that 
the undergraduate body learned to dress in a very 
short space of time, high boots and an ulster covering 
many deficiencies. 

The young Howes were always taken to church in 
the morning, but were free to spend the rest of Sun- 
day very much as they liked. We were not expected 
to practise on the piano, however, and we entertained 
the usual superstition about the impropriety, not to 
say evil, of sewing on Sunday. Our aunt, Mrs. Craw- 
ford, who lived during the greater part of her life in 
Italy, brought back to us more liberal ideas about the 
use of the needle. 

While we often took a drive on Sunday afternoon, 
I went with the feeling that it was not quite right, 
so strong was the influence of the prevalent opinion in 
the community. 

My father liked to have us read aloud from the 
Bible on Sunday evening, and we often did so while 
living in South Boston. The friends of th^ family 

1^5 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

found it pleasant and convenient to come to high tea 
on that day, so that at *' Green Peace" we often had 
a tableful of guests. After the removal to Boston 
these Sunday teas developed into evening receptions 
of a pleasant and informal character. For these our 
mother was duly taken to task by a lady who held the 
old-fashioned view of the day. In spite of this rebuke 
our mother continued serenely on her way. To enter- 
tain her friends was as essential to her happiness as 
to read and study. My father once said that if she 
were alone on a desert island, with one old negro, she 
would manage to have a party ! 

It had, indeed, required effort on her part, and on 
that of her friends, to have entertainments in South 
Boston. At No. 13 Chestnut Street it was much 
easier. Among the pleasant people who came there 
were William Hunt, the artist, and his wife. Her 
handsome and intelligent face lit up with interest and 
animation as she talked. I remember a little dinner 
at the Hunt house where my mother and I were the 
only guests. Mr. Hunt told us various anecdotes of 
the French circus — then known as the Hippodrome; 
of an old woman of eighty who still danced on the 
tight rope. He showed us how the little old bowed 
figure looked as she came forward to take her part 
in the performance. 

He related, too, the story of two men, one standing 
on the top of a tall staff, the second performing on a 
tight rope attached to it. One day, as the latter was' 
testing the rope, it snapped in two! He never loos- 
ened his grasp on his balance-pole, never lost his erect 
position, falling, splendid as Lucifer, through the 

166 



LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 

fifty or more feet of air, till his feet struck the ground. 
Both legs were broken. 

Among the interesting guests at No. 13 Chestnut 
Street were Celia Thaxter and her husband. She 
was handsome and looked like the woman of spirit 
that she undoubtedly was. What she said I cannot, 
alas! remember. 

Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes was in those days the 
most brilliant and delightful of talkers. Not only 
did he talk without effort, but it seemed to require 
an effort on his part to maintain silence. His very 
mouth looked as if it were ready to overflow into 
brilliant conversation of its own accord, and one fan- 
cied that he was obliged to exercise a certain restraint 
over it. 

I remember a dinner at our house where Ralph 
Waldo Emerson, Rev. William R. Alger, John Weiss, 
and Doctor Holmes were the guests. The witty doc- 
tor became fairly launched on the stream of his own 
brilliant conversation, and let us into certain of his 
professional secrets by telling us something of his 
methods of composition and of the moods in which he' 
wrote. I listened to this talk with a feeling akin to 
awe at being allowed to come so near to the sacred 
places of genius. The poet was inspired by his theme, 
and was led on, by the unfolding of his thought, to 
lay bare the secrets of his soul. It was a wonderful 
talk, and one could scarcely listen to it without emo- 
tion. 

When Doctor Holmes went away he said to his 
hostess, by way of apology for having talked so much, 
*'Well, I have told you a great deal about myself to- 

167 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

day." Whereupon another member of the company, 
himself a literary man, but of a less expansive nature 
than the Doctor, said, with emphasis, "Others could 
have told of their experiences, too, Doctor, if you had 
given them a chance." 

During the Civil War my father and Doctor 
Holmes were among the medical men appointed to 
examine those who sought to escape the draft on the 
ground of physical disability. Among them was one 
very large young man who had evidently outgrown 
his strength. The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table 
was short and slight. There was such a contrast in 
the size of the two that the witty doctor thought it 
would be amusing if he, the little man, should examine 
the big one. So he called out, *'Let me examine him. 
Doctor, let me examine him !" He accordingly pro- 
ceeded to percuss the young giant. 

Doctor Holmes liked better to talk than to listen, 
as the title which he assumed, "The Autocrat of the 
Breakfast Table," plainly shows. When my mother 
decided to give a course of talks on philosophical sub- 
jects, in the parlors of our house, she invited Doctor 
Holmes to be one of the guests. Meeting her in the 
street one rainy day, he explained to her at length 
why he was not interested in hearing other people 
lecture, the pair meanwhile walking up and down 
under their umbrellas. 

On another occasion, when both had been listening 
to an uninteresting lecture. Doctor Holmes said he 
would as lief hear potatoes poured from one barrel 
into another! 

Ralph Waldo Emerson was from time to time a 
i68 



LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 

visitor at our house. He was of the tall, slender New 
England type, with blue eyes and the large nose which 
is thought to indicate force. At the time of the exe- 
cution of John Brown he compared the gallows on 
which the old man perished to the cross. A little 
later he was in the company of some conservative 
people who were shocked at this comparison. They 
asked Mr. Emerson if he had made it, and, without 
attempting to palliate or explain, he replied that he 
had said something of the sort. 

In my youth the following remarks were attributed 
to him. 

"Church? What is church? I do not see church, 
I do not hear church, I do not smell church !" It is 
very possible that he did make them, yet he was a 
man essentially devout, the descendant of a line of 
clergymen. When a distinguished clergyman of the 
Church of England came to America, some years 
later, he declared that, whoever occupied the pulpit, 
Emerson was always the preacher! Time thus 
brought to the latter a splendid revenge for the small 
satires of earlier days. 

His table talk was fresh, quaint and delightful. 
Yet he was, on the whole, rather silent than talkative 
in company, as became the author of this passage : 

"When people come to see us, we foolishly prattle, 
lest we be inhospitable. But things said for conver- 
sation are chalk eggs. Don't say things. What you 
are stands over you the while and thunders so that I 
cannot hear what you say to the contrary.'* 

If this saying bears too hard upon women, we may 
comfort ourselves with another dictum of his, 

169 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

"Woman, if not the queen, is the lawgiver of con- 
versation." While great men like Mr. Emerson may 
sit serenely silent, the feminine instinct bids us try, 
at least, to be agreeable! 

The Sage of Concord, as he was called, staying one 
night at a hotel in Boston, received a long visit from 
a literary man who, rising to go at a late hour, said, 
"I am to give a lecture on Plato to-morrow and I 
haven't written the first word of it yet." To which 
Mr. Emerson, horrified at such carelessness, replied, 
"Good God !" This gentleman was Emanuel Scherb, 
a habitue of our house at one time. His negligence 
perhaps arose from the fact that he had once been in- 
sane. He then imagined that he was a monkey. A 
knowledge of this lingered in my mother's subcon- 
scious mind. She once talked with him about mon- 
keys, until she suddenly remembered his former de- 
lusion ! 

Mr. Emerson did not answer the persons who 
wrote to him asking for his autograph, even if they 
generously enclosed a stamp. It was said that his 
family found these stamps useful for their corre- 
spondence. Mrs. Emerson foresaw, at the beginning 
of the Civil War, that there would be a great rise in 
the price of cotton cloth. Hence she wisely laid in 
a closetful of this important commodity. 

Rev. William Rounceville Alger was one of the "in- 
tellectuals" of whom we saw a good deal. For a 
time he occupied Theodore Parker's pulpit in Music 
Hall, where sister Maud enjoyed hearing him preach. 
I fear that we classed him as one of "mamma's owls." 
We so called, in a general way, the men of literary 

170 



LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 

taste with whom she Hked to converse. Among the 
persons of note who dined with us at 13 Chestnut 
Street was Mr. Olcott, vegetarian and reformer, now 
best known as the father of Louisa Olcott. He spoke 
of his poetic views about foodstuffs, declaring that 
grains were to be preferred to roots, since the former 
grew above the ground, hence nourished our higher 
faculties, whereas the latter, being of the earth, must 
be earthy. This singular theory did not appeal to 
my father, nor, indeed, to any of us. Carlyle said of 
it, "Olcott and his potato gospel won^t go down here." 

He held ''conversations," at one of which he ob- 
served, apropos of cannibalism, that if we were to eat 
flesh at all, he did not see why we should not eat the 
best. Whereupon Mr. Coolidge, a gentleman of a 
literal turn of mind, was so horrified that he made a 
bee-line for the door. Mr. Olcott kept a school at 
one time where punishment was vicarious : if the 
children did wrong they were to punish him. For 

the offenses of one of Mr. Olcott's daughters, L 

L , a very good little girl, received correction. 

One of the many stories told of this gentleman was 
that he believed persons of fair hair and blue eyes 
were children of light who need not labor, whereas 
dark-haired individuals were children of darkness 
appointed to perform the work of the world. Mr. 
Olcott himself had fair hair and blue eyes, but his 
wife was dark! 

My father gave some breakfasts for gentlemen at 
the Chestnut Street house. I remember one where 
Alexander Hamilton, son of the great Federalist, was 
present and told various interesting stories. Among 

171 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

the family relics we have found a tiny lock of the hair 
of the statesman, sent by his son to my father. 

My mother was away from home when one of 
these breakfasts took place, and I sat at the head of 
the table as lady of the house. I appreciated the 
honor, although it was rather overpowering to be the 
only woman present. 

To No. 13 Chestnut Street, as well as to ''Green 
Peace," came clever and delightful women. The most 
original and brilliant of these was Mrs. Helen Bell, 
wife of Joseph Bell and the daughter of Rufus 
Choate, a famous lawyer of that day and a relative 
of Joseph H. Choate. She and her sister, Mrs. Eller- 
ton Pratt, were a most charming and unique couple. 
They kept up a running fire of absurd sayings in 
which Yankee exaggeration played its part. 

Thus when some one declared that a certain Ger- 
man gentleman had objectionable manners at table, 
Mrs. Bell exclaimed : ''What do you suppose he does? 
Do his feet fly up over his head, after every mouthful, 
or does he throw the tender vegetables about!" 

She had clear-cut features and a beautiful head, 
with wavy hair of a reddish tint. After crimping 
came into fashion, she remarked, "I put my hair up 
on lamp-wicks overnight, and people say I look like 
a Roman emperor." Mrs. Pratt, with her fair hair 
and blue eyes, was very pretty and had a certain child- 
like expression of countenance that was very attrac- 
tive. I never was so fortunate as to hear Mrs. Bell 
sing. Since her death, a few months ago, an old 
friend has thus described her singing, "To listen to 
the deep tones of that pathetic voice, song after song 

172 



LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 

coming through the twiHght, was an emotional expe- 
rience never to be forgotten." Mrs. Bell also played 
very well on the piano. Our master, Otto Dresel, 
once arranged that we should play together a 
concerto of Bach's for three pianos, Miss Char- 
lotte Heminway playing on the third, while he 
took the part of the orchestra on the fourth. We were 
obliged to practise in Chickering's music-rooms, no pri- 
pate house containing so many instruments. I took 
much pleasure and pride in the performance, which was 
simply for our own gratification and improvement. 

It may have been apropos of this concerto of Bach's 
that Mr. Dresel said to my mother, "I have created 
Flossy." I greatly enjoyed my music and it was 
cordially appreciated by our friends. In these days I 
often played — usually duets with Mr. Dresel — at our 
informal parties. A young friend, Miss Emily Ap- 
pleton, gave a musical evening where each of us 
played some piece on the piano. Mr. Dresel' s constant 
drill, and a flexibility of fingering inherited from my 
mother, gave me an advantage over the others. The 
young friends were surprised, but generously praised 
my performance of a piece which called for rapid and 
constant motion of the fingers. 

The express horses of the 'sixties must have been 
very lively animals, for they managed to run away 
with our grand piano and to damage it materially. 
The instrument belonging to our friends, the Sam 
G. Wards, needed repairing at the same time. Mr. 
Dresel used to say jokingly that at the Chickering 
factory they had simply exchanged the actions of the 
two pianos! 

12 173 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Charlotte Heminway was the eldest daughter of 
Augustus Heminway and Mrs. Mary Heminway, 
whose memory is revered on account of her noble 
charities. Charlotte herself, a friend of sister Julia, 
was a young woman of fine character and promise. 
One day in New York, being in haste to reach the sta- 
tion, she and a party of friends hailed a passing hack. 
After entering it they noticed a peculiar odor. On 
her return to Boston this eldest and especially beloved 
daughter of the house died of a virulent fever, sup- 
posed to be typhus. 

Among the clever and agreeable women who came 
to No. 13 Chestnut Street were two daughters of 
the Rev. Mr. Greenwood — Mrs. James Lodge and 
Mrs. William Howe. A third was Mrs. Charles Ho- 
mans, daughter of our opposite neighbor, Rev. Sam- 
uel K. Lothrop. A handsome woman to the end of 
her days, she was then young, albeit her hair was turn- 
ing gray. 

In the 'sixties Boston observed New Year's Day as 
a fitting time to take account of stock. A few people 
followed the custom, then prevalent in New York, 
of receiving callers. Our mother, remembering the cus- 
toms of her youth, was one of the first to do this, invit- 
ing a number of gentlemen to call. Mrs. Homans helped 
us receive one New Year's Day, adding to the pleas- 
ure of the occasion by her presence and conversation. 

Although she and my mother took opposite views 
of the suffrage question, they always maintained a 
cordial friendship. Mrs. Homans was active in pub- 
lic work of a charitable nature, interesting herself 
especially in prisoners. 

174 



LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 

Sister Julia and I enjoyed the intellectual society 
of our elders, yet we also had friends of our own age. 
Among these were two young men of promise, Will- 
iam Washburn and William James, well known later 
as the psychologist. The latter was a most genial 
and delightful person. When the question came up, 
possibly apropos of the Mormons, of the propriety 
of polygamy, he was inclined to think it might be a 
good thing to have more than one wife. I suggested 
that from the woman's side of the question it would 
not be desirable. 

When he returned from Brazil he told us that the 
inhabitants beckoned with the whole hand, instead of 
with extended forefinger, as was then the custom in 
America. Finding it difficult to make out prices, he 
confidingly extended a handful of silver, allowing 
the Brazilians to pick out the proper amount. 

William Washburn, who was a friend of William 
James, wrote a book of stories about Harvard, but 
did not make literature his profession. Henry James 
the younger, as he then was, came to see us occasion- 
ally, but we never knew him well. The coldness of 
his temperament was in strong contrast to the warmth 
and geniality of his brother's. He was then pale, and 
looked, as I thought, like the great Napoleon. I be- 
lieve that he was not in good health at that time, and 
possibly he was shy. Great was our surprise when 
he declared that some one was a hog. Who this self- 
ish person was I cannot remember, but Henry James 
was ordinarily so calm that this forcible denunciation 
was startling. At a later period my mother grew 
to know him better and had real affection for him. 

175 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

We knew also the two younger brothers, Wilkie 
and Robertson, who were pleasant fellows. Both 
fought in the Civil War, Wilkie being badly wounded. 

Henry James, Sr., was a man of as much talent as 
his distinguished sons, although never so well known. 
He was a follower of Swedenborg, but did not con- 
sider that the Swedenborgian Church interpreted cor- 
rectly the writings of the great mystic. I read with 
interest one of his books. Substance and Shadow, in 
which he expressed himself with vigor and originality. 
Mr. James knew that I was interested in his writings. 
Hence, when he saw me at the conclusion of his ad- 
dress at the Radical Club he exclaimed, reproachfully : 

"You here, Flossy!" 

"Why, Mr. James, I came to hear you !" 

With the delightful inconsequence of the Irish 
mind, he regretted seeing me at so unorthodox a 
meeting, not reflecting that he was the magnet which 
brought me there ! 

My father's experience as the head of two large 
institutions had shown him that, through changes in 
fortune, many women who never expected to earn 
their own living are obliged to do so. He thought all 
should be so educated as to be able to support them- 
selves. Hence I was taught bookkeeping, and kept, 
for some years, the books of the School for Idiotic 
and Feeble-minded Youth. These included a ledger 
on the double-entry system, and obliged me to take 
from time to time a trial balance. On one occasion 
I carelessly overdrew the bank-account. The check 
went to protest, causing me an expense of two dollars 
or more and some mortification. The father of one 

176 



LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 

of^ the inmates, finding that his correspondent was 
"Madam" and not ''Sir," wrote me in rather gallant 
style. Otherwise the work was calm and uneventful. 
I was paid a small salary, which helped out my allow- 
ance for dress. "The Town of Lee" was one of the 
headings in my ledger, this town being responsible 
for the maintenance of Charles Keep, who had a 
genius for catching rats without any trap. Why they 
did not bite his fingers is a mystery. At one time the 
authorities at the school were puzzled by a shortage 
in the milk. It was discovered that the feeble-minded 
boys who brought the cans from the Institution for 
the Blind, finding the load rather heavy, lightened it by 
pouring out part of the milk on the road ! 

Usually these poor children did not display special 
talent. I remember one who was proud of having 
only a single hand — a pride not more unreasonable 
than that often shown by persons of intelligence in 
matters for which they can not justly claim any credit. 
Another boy had such an exaggerated fear of Sab- 
bath-breaking that his teacher was in despair on Sun- 
day afternoons. If she proposed any occupation with 
the slightest tinge of secularity, Charlie would reject 
it with the simple explanation, "Hell !" The parents 
in many cases wrote an illiterate hand. The postal 
authorities were wont to indorse on letters bearing a 
cryptic address, "Try Doctor Howe." Everybody 
who wanted help did "try Doctor Howe" — the rich as 
well as the poor. Thus while few of the mentally de- 
ficient children of the well-to-do came to the Institu- 
tion, many were brought to his office in Brom- 
field Street for examination and advice. These 

177 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

he gave gladly, never charging any fee for his ser- 
vices. 

Sister Julia, soon after leaving school, took up as 
her work teaching at the Institution for the Blind. 
For this she never received any remuneration, nor did 
she wish any. She was one of the most unworldly 
persons whom I have ever seen. While enjoying, in 
a natural, healthy way, the pleasures of this life as 
they came to her, the things of the mind and of the 
spirit were to her the true realities. The bond of 
affection between her and my father was especially 
strong. ''Darlingest, Firstest, and Best Born" he 
calls her in one of his letters. It was a pleasure to 
see them start together for the daily trip to the Insti- 
tution for the Blind at South Boston. Having special 
talent for languages, she here taught Latin, German 
and French. She also read aloud in English to some 
of the inmates. 

A few years later, Mr. (afterward "Sir'') Francis 
Campbell, who had held a responsible position under 
my father, founded and carried on with much suc- 
cess "Norwood College" near London. This was 
the first school for the blind in England conducted 
on modern principles. My father did all in his power 
to help on the new enterprise, lending several teach- 
ers from the institution under his charge to start it. 
Among them was Miss Faulkner, who later became 
Lady Campbell. 

Some of the American teachers were blind and had 
been sister Julia's pupils. It was reported to us that, 
when traveling on the Continent of Europe, they 
found her instruction of real help. 

178 



LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 

In the late 'sixties Boston was stirred by a ludicrous 
incident which ended in a tragedy. Three commuters, 
society men, had turned over a seat on a railway train 
and were chatting together when a stranger ap- 
proached and took the vacant place. He was a large 
man, cumbered with a toy baby-carriage, and his 
presence disturbed the group of friends, who plainly 
showed their annoyance. When the interloper arose 
to go he said to one of the group, "Sir, you are no 
gentleman !" According to the masculine code, there 
is only one answer to this remark, although to a mere 
woman striking a man is a strange argument to prove 
that you are a gentleman. Mr. X., a small man with 
a quick temper, delivered the answer on the nose of 
the offender, knocking off and breaking his glasses. 
The bearer of the baby-carriage was a pacifist. He 
did not retort in kind, but brought suit against Mr. 
X. for assault and battery. The case was complicated 
by the fact that the three friends, of whom one at least 
was a director of the railroad, were thought by some 
of the traveling public to behave too much as if they 
owned the railway. It was a sort of town-and-gown 
affair. Hence when the lawyer for the defense made 
the mistake of treating the whole as a pure joke, the 
judge was angered and condemned Mr. X. to three 
months in prison. Having served this severe sentence, 
Mr. X. and his family left the United States, never 
to return. 



XIV 

OUR LABORS IN BEHALF OF CRETE 

Removal to Boylston Place. — W. D. Howells. — Marion Craw- 
ford as a Boy. — The Romance of a Fire. — The Cretan In- 
surrection. — Sisters Julia and Laura Accompany Our Parents 
to Greece. — A Grim Passenger. — A Price Is Set on My 
Father's Head. — Our Cretan Sewing-circle and Concert. — 
Over-modest Amateurs. — The Sumner Bronzes. 

IN the autumn of 1865 we left No. 13 Chestnut 
Street, greatly to our regret. The owner of the 
house, Mr. Sargent, decided to live there himself, so 
we moved to No. 19 Boylston Place, My father never 
approved of this locality, as it was on made ground 

and rather low. It had been a part of old Mr. *s 

garden. However, I do not think it affected the 
health' of the family unfavorably. Having some 
trouble with the drainage, he sent for the Master of 
the Drains. This official looked exactly as one might 
guess from his title — quaint, seedy, with bloodshot 
eyes. I suspect Boston did not then have a sewerage 
system. 

The move from Chestnut Street had been a hurried 
one, as my father hoped almost to the last to find a 
situation better to his liking than Boylston Place. I 
was now at the age, twenty years, when young people 
feel the responsibility of the world resting heavily 
on their shoulders. During the preparations for re- 
moval I flew up and down stairs and attempted to do 

189 



OUR LABORS IN BEHALF OF CRETE 

a hundred things, without any regard for my own 
strength, which I supposed to be unHmited. The re- 
sult was a strain that affected my health unfavorably 
for some years. The fault was my own, as no one had 
asked or expected me to do so much. 

In these years I began to be interested in chari- 
table work, conducting a sewing-school for poor chil- 
dren at our own house. Occasionally our sittings were 
interrupted by the merry raids of the young Howes, 
who launched sponges and other missiles at my schol- 
ars. The latter took refuge under the dining-room 
table, but appreciated the sport of the affair. When 
my father looked in upon the children at work his face 
lit up with a beautiful smile that was more than re- 
ward enough for my small efforts. 

In our frequent drives between South Boston and 
Boston we passed through a somewhat squalid tene- 
ment-house district. Concern for the people dwelling 
there now began to oppress me, and I made efforts, 
though not always wise ones, to help them. 

Among my protegees was a Mrs. Wallace, a stal- 
wart Irish woman with several children, whose 
husband had pains in his legs whenever he held the 
baby. We started her in a fruit-stand and made va- 
rious efforts in her behalf. She was later arrested 
for some misdemeanor and it required several police- 
men to take her, struggling all the way, to the station- 
house. 

A very unpleasant though amusing incident of our 
life at Boylston Place was the arrival of a box con- 
taining six semi-wild cats, sent to my father by our 
friend, Mr. Thomas R. Hazard, as a species of joke. 

J8i 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

When the box was opened the cats flew out of it, 
scattering in every direction. Fortunately for the 
Howe family, some of them escaped from the house. 
The most troublesome one persisted in rushing up the 
chimney-place in my room whenever we approached 
her. 

About this time the family narrowly escaped a seri- 
ous danger. One evening my mother, being up late, 
noticed on the ceiling a slight discoloration; she also 
thought she heard a low tick-tick as of flames. Being 
very sleepy, she reasoned thus with herself : "Even if 
there should be a fire and we should be burned up, 
why, then David and Flossy could be married." 

Arousing herself from this strange altruistic vein* 
she called my father. In time of danger he was in 
his element. He speedily chopped open the floor of 
the parlor and the flames appeared! Meantime, 
brother Harry, hastily attired, rushed out for a police- 
man. The latter showed very languid interest. 

"Fire— where?" 

"At No. 19 Boylston Place." 

"O Lord!" ejaculated the officer of the law, and 
rushed for the spot. His own home was next door ! 

On the other side of us lived Mrs. Richards and her 
five stalwart sons. Whenever our furnace sent out 
smoke, it went into the Richards' house. Hence the 
young men, smelling smoke, came in to see what was 
wrong with us. Sister Laura, who was a very prett)' 
and charming girl, roused suddenly from sleep, ap- 
peared barefoot upon the scene, with her fine hair 
floating over her shoulders. Two or three years later 
she married the youngest of the fire-fighters. 

183 



OUR LABORS IN BEHALF OF CRETE 

I was staying in New York at the time, and so 
missed the great scene of the fire. It was put out 
without much damage. 

It will be judged from my mother*s remark that my 
engagement was a long one, my fiance being a young 
lawyer studying in his father^s office. During the five 
years that elapsed before our marriage I found it 
pleasant to make visits in New York, staying with 
Great-uncle Richard Ward. He possessed the courtly 
manners of a gentleman of the old school, his diction 
being somewhat old-fashioned. Thus he frequently 
said, ''No, lady," or ''Yes, lady," a form of address 
now used chiefly by dependents. Uncle Richard was 
a thorough Ward, of tall and massive frame, though 
not at all stout. He had been six feet four inches tall 
in his younger days, and wore number eleven gloves, it 
was said. His shoes were on the same scale. During 
the life of Uncle John (when the two brothers lived 
together) there was a room at the rear of the house 
devoted to their footgear. It was a veritable acreage 
of shoes w^hich resembled small cradles. Leather was 
then supposed to last longer if boots were given a 
rest instead of being used constantly. Uncle Richard 
wore one of the hideous wigs of the period, having 
lost his hair many years before. A family tradition 
declared that, from the receding of the gums, his 
teeth had all dropped out while still sound. He re- 
ceived us always with great kindness and hospitality. 
The only drawback to the pleasure of a visit at No. 
8 Bond Street was the temperature of the house, which 
was cold foi] our modern taste. In addition to an 
old-fashioned and rather ineffectual furnace there 

183 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

were pleasant open-grate fires in all the rooms. We 
soon learned that we must not poke these too much 
when Uncle Richard was present, for a tempera- 
ture comfortable to us was distressing to him. As 
we sat playing whist of an evening, he would get up 
and leave the room from time to time, in order to 
cool off in the haJl. 

He made it a point of pride not to wear an over- 
coat, and seldom did so, though he dressed very 
warmly beneath his invariable black suit. What he 
should wear on a cold day became in his later years 
a serious question. He would call in consultation his 
faithful old retainer. Mary Oliver would sometimes 
decide the matter by weighing the clothes ! 

Uncle Richard was very much interested in geneal- 
ogy and took great pride in his ancestors. He in- 
formed me that the boys at school looked with respect 
on his brothers and himself because they were de- 
scended from four Governors! Dear deluded man! 
How could he so misunderstand boy nature ! I've no 
doubt their schoolmates treated the brothers with due 
respect, the Wards being a large and powerful race. 
It is more prudent not to offend bigger boys. 

He was showing me one day an old family Bible in 
which the names of seven generations of Wards were 
inscribed. Seeing a visitor come up the front steps, 
he closed the book. 

"Now, my dear, we will not talk about ancestors 
before Mr. So-and-so," he observed. "Because if we 
speak of these before other people, they also talk 
about theirs, and that is not so interesting !" 

I do not think he wrote any account of his fore- 
184 



OUR LABORS IN BEHALF OF CRETE 

bears, leaving that for his successor in the cult, Cousin 
John Ward. The latter does not mention the fourth 
awe-inspiring Governor, but perhaps he was on the 
distaff side. 

William Dean Howells was one of the noted people 
who came to see us in Boylston Place. Sister Julia 
and I fancied that he looked like an amiable Richard 
III. His black hair was parted in the middle — a thing 
not usual in the 'sixties. Although cut short, it 
strayed over his forehead in a way to suggest the 
close-cropped hair of the medieval knight, while his 
dark complexion, short, compact figure, and some- 
thing unusual about his face, suggested this resemb- 
lance to us. The comparison was not invidious, be- 
cause we admired Edwin Booth in the role of Rich- 
ard III. 

We were interested in Mr. Howells's india-rubbers, 
they were so small ! Mr. and Mrs. Frank Leslie, with 
Mrs. Squiers, also spent an evening with us. Both 
ladies were in full evening dress, doubtless supposing 
the occasion would be a formal one. Mrs. Squiers 
was a striking-looking person whose face did not 
recommend itself to me. After the death of the first 
wife, she became the second Mrs. Frank Leslie. All 
suffragists owe her a debt of gratitude for her gen- 
erous gift of her fortune to our cause. 

One of our delightful visitors in these days was 
our cousin-german Frank, known later as Marion 
Crawford, the novelist. He was sent to this country 
to receive his early education, spending several years 
at St. Paul's School in Concord, New Hampshire. 
He was now about ten years old, a handsome, fresh- 

I8S 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

faced boy, very much interested in locomotives. He 
brought a number of engravings of these, which I 
politely examined, in spite of my perfect indifference 
to engines of all sorts. In later years my youngest 
son, discovering with pain this trait in his mother's 
character, observed, reflectively: 

"It must be strange not to be interested in locomo- 
tives." 

"No, Jack, it is not strange at all !" 

Young Crawford was as full of fun as other boys 
of his age. With brother Harry he performed va- 
rious antics at the house of my aunt, Mrs. Mailliard, 
in Bordentown, New Jersey. Her family were sur- 
prised, when walking in the garden, to see the stand 
of the lost rocking-horse protruding from the chim- 
ney ! 

Dear old Mr. Joseph Greene Cogswell, who had 
been the first librarian of the Astor Library, was sit- 
ting quietly by the fire when boots suddenly came 
down the chimney. With perfect gravity he picked 
these out of the fire with the tongs, causing great 
amusement to the naughty boys watching above. 

Sister Julia was ten years older than Frank, but 
they were great chums. During one of our periodical 
stays at the Institution for the Blind they bought 
cream-cakes with the money given them for car fare, 
and walked the two or more miles from Boston to 
South Boston with cheerful hearts ! 

During our residence in Boylston Place my father 
did some of his writing in the house and asked us to 
make no noise near his room. We were so young 
and thoughtless as to think this request unreasonable. 

i86 



OUR LABORS IN BEHALF OF CRETE 

True, we knew, in a general way, that he was writing 
the report for the Massachusetts Board of State 
Charities, but this meant Httle to us. In later years 
we came to understand what labor and fatigue the 
task involved, for the board was the pioneer body of 
its kind in the United States. My father's wide ex- 
perience made it inevitable that he should be sum- 
moned to sit on it. 'The Nestor and Achilles of pub- 
lic charities in Massachusetts" soon became the chair- 
man. In a series of annual reports he advocated a sys- 
tem of dealing with the dependent classes which was 
accepted and still remains in force, not only in Massa- 
chusetts, but in many other states and in some Euro- 
pean countries. 

Public institutions, he declared, should be built only 
in the last resort. The dependent classes should be 
diffused through the community, not gathered to- 
gether. Children should be cared for in families, not 
in institutions. Defectives should be brought together 
only for purposes of instruction. They should not 
live together in homes, as their peculiarities thus be- 
come more strongly developed, but with normal peo- 
ple. 

As a pioneer in eugenics he strongly disapproved 
of the policy of certain trustees of the Reform School 
for Girls. These wished to bury in oblivion the for- 
mer bad life of the young women, allowing young 
men to marry them without any warning of their past 
misbehavior. My father knew this was all wrong 
and so declared, drawing upon himself sarcastic de- 
nunciations from the unwise trustees. 

When it was proposed to build a large institution at 
187 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Winthrop, he wrote to the newspapers, showing the 
evil of congregating so many people under one roof. 

An unexpected ally appeared in a correspondent 
who wrote Doctor Howe, approving the stand he had 
taken, "because, although it is not generally known, 
there are lions and tigers under the proposed site of 
the institution!'* 

My father's labors have often seemed to me like 
those of Hercules. He succeeded in them because he 
had great confidence in the benevolence of his fellow- 
men ; he knew they would respond to appeals made in 
the right spirit, if matters were clearly explained. 

"Obstacles are things to be overcome," was one of 
his mottoes. "Qui facit per alium, facit per se," was 
another. 

So long as the deed was done, it mattered not to 
him who did it or who received the praise. H some 
one else could carry out his plan, he was off to the 
next task. He was too busy to give any time to the 
recording of his own accomplishments. Hence he 
had all the more for the work in hand. 

In 1866 came the stirring news of the revolt of 
Crete against her Mohammedan oppressors. The 
island had earned its freedom with the rest of Greece 
in the war of independence, but by a cruel stroke of 
diplomacy had been put back under the heel of the 
Turk. 

We shudder in the year 19 18 at the cruelties of the 
Germans, the self-styled Huns. Yet they were once 
Christians and some remains of Christian thought and 
practice still linger among their soldiery. But the 
Turks have always been barbarians. In the early 

188 



OUR LABORS IN BEHALF OF CRETE 

days of the rising of 1866-68 we learned with horror 
of the fate of the brave and desperate Cretans who, 
gathered together in church or fortress, blew them- 
selves into eternity rather than fall into the savage 
hands of the Turks. Men did the same thing in the 
Greek revolution, to escape the same terrible fate ! 

My father was now sixty-five years old. Yet "he 
heard the voice of Greece calling him," and he an- 
swered the call, as he had answered it nearly half 
a century before. 

Then he had gone, in the enthusiasm of his bright 
youth, alone to a strange land, whose language he 
did not speak. Now he at once called a meeting in 
Music Hall, Boston, where Edward Everett Hale, 
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Wendell Phillips, the silver- 
tongued orator, and others spoke. 

My father presided and made a brief speech : 

"I knew hundreds of them [the Cretans] — good 
men and true. I had been in their beautiful island, 
had stood a siege with them in one of their belea- 
guered fortresses, and witnessed their courage. . . . 
I see them now, the sons of my old companions, in 
their snowy chemise and their shaggy capote, saying, 
sadly, 'Good-by, mother ! Good-by, sister and child ! 
Seek your refuge in the neighboring isles, upon the 
main, wherever the hand of Christian mercy may aid 
you. We go to the mountains to keep the flag of 
freedom flying as long as we live !' My friends, these 
unfortunate women and children are now suffering as 
many of their mothers suffered forty years ago. Your 
fathers and your mothers relieved them. Will you 
not relieve their children?" 

13 189 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Of course they would and did. Thirty-seven thou- 
sand dollars were raised, and in March, 1867, my 
father sailed for Greece, to be once more the almoner 
of American charity. 

The Cretan refugees had been obliged to fly hastily, 
and were in a destitute, almost naked condition. The 
good women of Boston responded to this call by 
forming sewing-circles to make clothing for these 
exiles. 

I inaugurated one among my young friends, but 
looked in vain for a president. I appealed to Emily 
Russell, who had held this office in a similar society. 

"Why aren't you the president yourself ?" she sug- 
gested. The idea had not previously occurred to me, 
as I had had no experience. However, I accepted 
her advice, learning then that if you start an enter- 
prise you must expect to take the responsibility on 
your own shoulders. 

Just "what kind of undergarments the women of the 
Orient wore we did not know. Fortunately for us, a 
circle of older ladies took the responsibility, cutting 
out for us pattern "togas" and "pajamas." They 
were of unbleached muslin — or cotton cloth. The^ 
price of this had been seventy-five cents a yard during 
the Civil War, and was still very high in 1867. 

We were merry over the naming of the garments 
and over their unusual shape. My mother, who as- 
sisted in the distribution of the clothing to the refu- 
gees at Athens, tells us that they were suitable in 
pattern and quality. 

One or more of our meetings were held at the Insti- 
tution for the Blind, where Laura Bridgman, despite 

190 



OUR LABORS IN BEHALF OF CRETE 

her lack of sight and hearing, ran the sewing-machine 
for us. 

The year 1867 and a good part of 1868 were 
largely occupied with work for the Cretan cause. 
My mother and sisters, Julia and Laura, accompanied 
my father to Europe, I having remained behind from 
choice. This was partly out of deference to the 
wishes of my fiance and partly because I had not yet 
recovered from the strain received during the removal 
to Boylston Place. 

A quiet summer was indicated for me — but how 
was it possible to compass this when the letters from 
Greece were so moving? Sister Laura, in particular, 
wrote such harrowing accounts of the refugees that 
I could not remain inactive. Brother Harry, sister 
Maud and I were spending the greater part of the 
summer at our home in Lawton's Valley, where our 
aunt, Mrs. Joseph N. Howe, and her daughters were 
installed for the season. 

I rashly decided to arrange an amateur concert for 
the benefit of the Cretans. True, I knew something 
of music, but of the nature of amateur musicians I 
was blissfully ignorant. The first step was easy 
enough. The stirring letters from Greece afforded 
plenty of ammunition for a circular appeal to the 
leading people of Newport, of which we wrote many 
copies. Brother Harry, now a junior at Harvard 
College, was my right hand in the whole matter, work- 
ing most unselfishly and constantly. 

Day after day we took the six-mile drive to New- 
port, calling upon prospective patronesses and sing- 
ers. The former responded nobly. Mrs. E. D. Mor- 

191 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

gan, wife of the war Governor of New York State, 
took fifty tickets, although her husband had already- 
contributed to the cause. 

But the singers ! oh, the singers ! Such backing and 
filling, such coy consents, withdrawn almost as soon 
as made! It had not occurred to my youthful mind 
that the amateur musician normally displays his tal- 
ents before a private audience. In asking him to sing 
before the public, at an entertainment for which tick- 
ets were sold, I was requesting something unusual. 
Doubtless many felt their talents were not sufficient 
for the task. The Cretan concert might never have 
materialized except for the timely aid of Miss Jane 
Stuart. Daughter of the famous painter, Gilbert 
Stuart, and an artist herself, she was one of the 
characters of old Newport. Her father had been 
one of the few to give my father God-speed when the 
latter started for Greece in 1824, and he had recipro- 
cated the kindness by helping Miss Jane in some un- 
dertaking. She was extremely grateful, and once 
showed her feeling by embracing him. "My dear, I 
might just as well have kissed that door !" she after- 
ward said to my mother. My father was a true New 
Englander in disliking all such demonstrations, and 
Miss Jane was extremely plain. 

She and her elder sister lived in a pleasant little 
cottage on Mill Street. This was practically head- 
quarters for us during our Cretan concert campaign. 
Miss Jane gave us her aid and counsel in every pos- 
sible way. I'm ashamed to think how often we im- 
posed upon the kindness of the two ladies by staying 
to luncheon. Miss Anne, born toward the close of 

192 



OUR LABORS IN BEHALF OF CRETE 

the eighteenth or at the beginning of the nineteenth 
century, was a gentlewoman of the old school. She 
wore a black head-dress covering a great part of her 
head — the successor to the turban, perhaps. She was 
not so witty as Miss Jane, whose conversation was 
very charming. The agreeable women of the older 
generation whom I remember in my youth had grown 
up before the day of the short story and almost be- 
fore that of the magazine. Hence it was a part of 
their social education, the knowledge of how to tell 
anecdotes in a truly interesting way. 

Another friend who helped us in our undertaking 
was Miss Anna Vernon, who thoroughly loved music 
and gave much time to it. She then lived in the his- 
toric Vernon house, the headquarters of Rochambeau. 
It is now decorated with a medallion portrait of him. 

I was so much absorbed in my new undertaking as 
to suppose every one else would be interested in it. 
Perhaps that is the secret of successful canvassing! 
To my urgent request that he would go with me to 
drum up recruits Col. Thomas Wentworth Higgin- 
son at last replied : 

"Why, I am the only man in Newport who has any- 
thing to do r 

This gentle rebuke was disconcerting, but, having 
delivered it, and so freed his mind, the gallant colonel 
climbed into my pony-chaise and we made the pro- 
jected calls together. At that time he and his first 
wife were living in Newport. She was a superior 
woman, but a victim of a form of rheumatism which 
made her almost helpless. Her husband was devoted 
to her. 

193 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

The amateurs continuing hopelessly coy, we had, 
in a moment of desperation, an interview with the 
manager of an opera troupe. It did not prove prac- 
ticable, however, to hand the concert over to profes- 
sionals. 

We were obliged to call in the aid of one, Mrs. 
Flora Gary, afterward Mrs. Barry, a concert singer 
with a fine contralto voice. She generously gave us 
her services. My mother's cousin, John Ward, pos- 
sessed a well-cultivated tenor voice, and he, too, nobly 
volunteered. With the help of these and other per- 
formers the concert for the benefit of the Cretans at 
last came off. We cleared four hundred dollars, and 
a donation from the Misses Hazard, the sisters of 
Mr. Thomas Hazard, brought our profits up to five 
hundred. 

Cousin John had taken degrees both as a doctor 
and as a lawyer, yet he practised neither profession. 
The possession of money was an effective damper on 
his activities. For many years he was a member of 
the well-known Mendelssohn Glee Club of New York. 
Unfortunately, he desired also to be a poet, a career 
for which nature had not intended him. He had a 
theory that perseverance was the main requisite. 
Hence he would read his verses to some unfortunate 
friend, and if the latter made any criticism which 
seemed to him just he would call on the friend a sec- 
ond time, and recite a revised version, asking if that 
were any better ! 

His friends took refuge in polite lies. "Oh no, 
John, I have no taste for poetry. I'm no judge of it 
— it would not be of any use to read that to me !" 

194 



OUR LABORS IN BEHALF OF CRETE 

Even the most conscientious fell from truth, after 
a while. When it came to the third degree^ — listening 
to the same verses, altered slightly to suit your taste, 
for the third time you surrendered. You accepted 
them as faultless — anything, rather than listen to 
them again. 

He printed a volume of poems, which he deter- 
mined should be letter-perfect. Of course it was not 
— but the printer profited handsomely by the ven- 
ture. 

A more practical taste was that for genealogy. 
We owe to his painstaking industry biographies of 
our common ancestors, Governor Samuel Ward and 
his son, Lieutenant-Colonel Ward, as well as an ac- 
count of the Continental Congress before the Decla- 
ration of Independence. Thereby hangs a tale. Gov- 
ernor Samuel Ward was not only a member of that 
Congress, but presided constantly over the body as 
chairman of the Committee of the Whole, until March 
15, 1776, when he was obliged to leave the session, 
owing to a violent attack of smallpox! He died 
shortly after, and so did not sign the famous docu- 
ment. His colleague, Stephen Hopkins, did live to 
sign it, yet it was the "physical disability" of the lat- 
ter which threw such a burden of work on Governor 
Ward that he was in an entirely unfit state to cope 
with the disease! 

We have found it a little hard to forgive our dis- 
tinguished ancestor his imprudence. If he had only 
been inoculated beforehand all might have been well, 
but he could not take the time ! However, we console 
ourselves by remembering that he was the only Colo- 

m 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

nial governor who refused to carry out the odious 
stamp act! 

His son, Lieut.-Col. Samuel Ward, did good ser- 
vice in the Revolution. Cousin John regarded these 
and other ancestors with a reverence that amounted 
almost to awe. He would let you take a peep at 
Governor Ward's Congressional Journal, but you 
were not permitted to touch it. Yet he made no pro- 
vision for the care of these beloved papers after his 
death. They were inherited by a relative who, pos- 
sessing no taste for genealogical research, has locked 
them up in a safe-deposit box. 

I have sometimes thought there should be one gen- 
ealogist — and only one — in each generation. Yet, 
when I remember the lives of some of those I have 
known, it seems a little hard to condemn even one 
person every thirty years to this gentle fate. For 
it is not to be denied that genealogists are often in- 
effective, though excellent, persons. It has been al- 
ready said of Cousin John that he went to the Civil 
War. So he did his *'bit" for his country. 

During the seven months while the family were in 
Europe sister Maud remained under my charge. 
With the help of Miss Mary Paddock, we kept house 
in the ''Doctor's" part of the Institution, visiting va- 
rious relatives later on. That Miss Paddock should 
thus come to help us out was quite in the usual order 
of things. We were all fond of her and accepted her 
aid as a matter of course. As the young Howes grew 
older, we saw and appreciated the sterling worth and 
rare unselfishness of her character. 

It was a part of my father's power to draw to his 
196 



OUR LABORS IN BEHALF OF CRETE 

aid people of worth and ability. His chivalrous spirit 
thrilled through his assistants. They saw him de- 
voting his life to the care of the maimed lambs of the 
human fold — they, too, would and did help in the 
good work. Working with the "Doctor'* was no light 
service, yet all knew that he himself labored harder 
than any one else. Of necessity there was much 
steady, practical work, yet, as in all pioneer labor, 
there was the romance of hewing out new paths. To 
enHst under the "Doctor's" banner was in itself an ad- 
venture. Mary Paddock did so enlist, becoming a 
teacher at the Institution for the Blind in her young 
womanhood. Her devotion to my father ended only 
with his life. She was with us often at "Lawton's 
Valley" and "Green Peace" as faithful friend and 
helper. During the last years of my father's life, 
when his health was failing badly, she was his aman- 
uensis and nurse. For her memory we all feel deep 
affection and gratitude. 

The blind children were often my playmates. We 
were so accustomed to seeing and being with them 
that we thought little about their privation of sight. 
My father's aim was to make them as much like see- 
ing people as possible. Thus they were taught to go 
about the house and grounds very freely, running 
down-stairs as rapidly as seeing boys and girls. Some 
of them walked in the streets and even traveled in 
the cars alone. Usually, however, a leader was re- 
quired. Occasionally I went with them, as guide, to 
opera or concert. Many tickets were generously sent 
to them, especially for the less popular performances. 

In the summer of 1867 sister Maud was in her 
197 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

thirteenth year — a handsome child of generous and 
noble impulses, but of an impetuous disposition that 
made her at times difficult to deal with. "Old Splen- 
did" was the name given her by a dressmaker to whom 
we were all attached. *'The Stormy Petrel" was an- 
other nickname. 

Her lack of respect for the gods of the school-room 
filled my more conventional soul with horror. To 
call the excellent Mr. Greenleaf, the author of our 
arithmetic, a fool seemed to me eminently unreason- 
able. When, in a fit of exasperation over her studies, 
the ink-bottle was flung across the room, spattering 
the wall with its contents, I stood aghast. I did the 
best I could for my young charge while the family 
were in Europe and was rewarded a hundredfold by 
her affection and gratitude. 

My mother and sisters assisted in the work of dis- 
tributing to the Cretan refugees the ten thousand gar- 
ments sent out from America. Sister Laura has de- 
scribed "the stately, dark-eyed Cretan women, ma- 
jestic even in their rags and misery ; the slender girls ; 
the lovely, dirty children." She has told us of many 
romantic incidents which found no place in my fa- 
ther's reports.^ He always suppressed his own part in 
any undertaking, writing down only what was neces- 
sary to secure the interest of the reader. 

A price was set upon his head by the Turkish au- 
thorities of Crete. Nevertheless, he visited the island 
and the small rocky fortress where he had been be- 
sieged in the old days of the Greek Revolution. 



1 Letters and Journals of Samuel Gridley Howe. Dana 
Estes & Co. 

198 



OUR LABORS IN BEHALF OF CRETE 

The Howe sisters made a trip on a small steamer 
where there was a grim passenger — the head of a 
famous brigand who had just been captured and 
killed. They would have liked to see this horrible 
trophy, but my father would not permit it. 

On their return to America, my father and mother 
began to make preparations for a fair in behalf of the 
Cretans. My share was to revive the sewing-circle 
of the previous year. Instead of working on "paja- 
mas" and ''togas," we now had the more interesting 
occupation of sewing on pretty things. White coats 
with colored silk trimmings were then in fashion. I 
conceived the brilliant idea of making them at our 
sewing-circle, and so reaping a handsome profit. The 
girls groaned at undertaking anything so serious as 
outside garments, but I persuaded them that they could 
— and ought. These sold for a high price — between 
thirty and forty dollars apiece ! 

The fair was a great success, more than thirty 
thousand dollars being raised. The work for the 
Cretans involved many meetings. Money was raised 
by lectures and in other ways. A poster in one of the 
theaters announcing a performance for their benefit 
drew this comment from a passer-by: 

"The Cretans? Who in h — 1 are the Cretans?" 

In spite of the splendid struggle made by the brave 
inhabitants of the island, they were at last obliged 
to go back under barbarian rule. But it was only for 
a time. My father did not live to see Crete freed, 
but we, the children of the Philhellene, rejoiced and 
were exceeding glad when the hated Mohammedan 
yoke was thrown off. 

199 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

The Cretan episode had one very unexpected re- 
sult. Among my father's helpers in Athens was a 
young Greek, Michael Anagnostopoulos. When he 
was asked what payment he desired for his services, 
he replied: 

"What do you receive for yours, Doctor Howe?" 

"Nothing," said my father. 

"Neither do I wish to be paid," the young Greek 
answered. But he did want to see America! 

He returned with the family to Boston, where, 
after mastering the difficulties of the English lan- 
guage, he became Doctor Howe's assistant at the 
Institution for the Blind. In the year 1870 he mar- 
ried sister Julia, succeeding to the directorship after 
my father's death in 1876. 

We were all made happy by the purchase of No. 
32 Mount Vernon Street, soon after the return 
of the family from Europe. This residence, on the 
top of Beacon Hill, was spacious and pleasant. 

The preceding owner was a maiden lady with a 
great fondness for cats. They were not included 
in the bill of sale, but hung about the place. Cats 
seemed to be our fate! 

As I had not fully recovered my strength, a room 
on the ground floor was allotted to me, so that I 
need not climb the stairs. A furnace burning wood 
was put into the house as being more wholesome than 
anthracite coal. 

Once or twice I heard a friendly tap on the win- 
dow-pane, and opened the door to admit brother 
Harry, who had forgotten his latch-key. From the 
lapel of his dress-coat gleamed many favors, tokens 

200 



OUR LABORS IN BEHALF OF CRETE 

of the mimic victories of the german. For he was 
a good dancer and a favorite in society. 

Fifty years later, when the John Fritz gold medal 
was presented to him, at a meeting of the United En- 
gineering Societies held in his honor, I again saw 
stars shining upon his breast, the tokens not of mimic, 
but of real victories. For brother Harry has won 
golden opinions by his strenuous work, and many 
honors, from foreign countries as well as from Eng- 
land and America, have been bestowed on him. Yet 
he has taken them all with a modesty that disarms 
envy. 

In 1869 he graduated from Harvard College. 
His class day was an event in the family, especially 
for sister Laura, who was then at the right age — 
nineteen — to enjoy the festival fully. Various des- 
perate swains attended her on that day and made love 
to her amid the classic shades of the old Harvard 
Yard. She was a pretty, perhaps a beautiful girl, 
with a sweetness and freshness of disposition delight- 
ful to behold. Though clever and witty, she was too 
amiable to say sharp things. Hence great was the 
number of her admirers. 

I had now assumed the cares of the family house- 
keeping, as well as a certain supervision over the 
clothes of the younger sisters. Sister Julia was not 
interested in these things. It must be regretfully ad- 
mitted that under my sway plain living was too much 
accentuated. Finding a diet of prunes and toast for 
supper (dinner was still at two o'clock) monotonous 
and uninteresting, the family rebelled and declared 
they must have a more generous and varied bill of 

201 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

fare. Even my father questioned whether, in view 
of my natural tendencies to economy, it might have 
been a mistake to teach me bookkeeping! I do not 
think this was his real opinion, however. During one 
of my absences from home he wrote that he missed 
me as the regulating clock of the establishment. The 
high prices which continued to prevail long after the 
end of the Civil War made prudence in expenditure 
necessary for people of moderate income. I kept the 
family accounts, the central figure from whom we re- 
ceived funds, and who was supposed to demand an 
exact accounting of all moneys given out, being put 
down as "The House." My father once jokingly 
exclaimed, "Who is House? Every one seems to be 
against him !" 

He was now requested to take part in a new enter- 
prise which deeply interested him. The Republic of 
Santo Domingo having asked to be annexed to the 
United States, President Grant appointed Hon. Ben- 
jamin F. Wade, of Ohio, Hon. Andrew D. White, 
and my father as commissioners to visit the island and 
investigate the conditions there. 

They sailed in the steamer Tennessee, after warn- 
ing us that we must not be alarmed if no news was 
received from them for a month. Nevertheless, it 
was difficult tO' avoid worry when sensational stories 
appeared in the newspapers about the supposed foun- 
dering of the Tennessee. The wife of Andrew D. 
White suffered such anxiety that her hair turned 
white ! 

With the assistance of a corps of scientific ob- 
servers, they made a careful investigation of condi- 

202 



OUR LABORS IN BEHALF OF CRETE 

tions in the little republic and wrote a report heartily 
favoring annexation. I'm sorry to say that Charles 
Sumner, misled by designing people, made a speech 
in the Senate strongly opposing it, before this report 
had been presented. Others attacked it and the meas- 
ure failed. Thus Grant's plan of gaining a foothold 
in the tropics was for the moment defeated. 

My father still hoped that something might be done 
for Santo Domingo through private enterprise. Dur- 
ing his last visit to the island news came of the death 
of Charles Sumner. My father was deeply grieved, 
for in spite of the difference of opinion about Santo 
Domingo the old friendship remained unbroken. 

To each of the Howe daughters, and I think to the 
Longfellow daughters also, Charles Sumner left a 
legacy of five hundred dollars. He also bequeathed 
his fine collection of bronzes to my father and Mr. 
Longfellow. Mother and sister Maud met the poet 
and made the division. Sister Maud complained 
afterward that our mother would choose first some 
piece that she especially fancied, instead of selecting 
the largest and most valuable articles. Sister Maud 
was still in her teens ! 

The older three Howe sisters were all married 
within a twelvemonth, sister Julia choosing the thir- 
tieth day of December, 1870, in order that she might 
begin the new life with the new year. She was mar- 
ried at home. Sister Laura's wedding took place at 
the Church of the Disciples, on the 17th of June. 
We had forgotten that the procession of Bunker Hill 
Day might interfere with the going to and from the 
church. It did cause some delay. 

203 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

My marriage took place at No. 32 Mount Vernon 
Street, in November, 1871. All three of us had sim- 
ple weddings, followed by pleasant, informal recep- 
tions. We had no bridesmaids. Several of sister 
Laura's disappointed lovers went off on an excursion 
together, instead of attending the ceremony. 

She and her husband went to Europe on their wed- 
ding tour, visiting Greece, Constantinople, Italy and 
other countries. 

Brother Harry graduated from the Massachusetts 
Institute of Technology, at the head of his class, leav- 
ing Boston during this same fateful year 1871. Our 
parents were thus left with only one out of the five 
children — sister Maud — but she was a host in herself, 
while their many interests and many friends acted as 
a cheerful counter-irritant to loneliness. 

Brother Harry married, in April, 1874, Miss Fan- 
nie Gay, daughter of Willard Gay, Esq., of Troy, 
New York. The wedding was in church, a handsome 
reception following it. 



XV 

MARRIED LIFE IN NEW JERSEY 

Nursery Days. — The Family of a New Jersey Commuter. — 
Sorrows of the Country Housekeeper. — Death of My 
Father. — A Memorial Meeting. — The Story of Sister Con- 
stance. — A Division of Heirlooms. 

THE first six years of our married life were spent 
in New York City. Here we shared with my 
husband's brother, Rowland Minturn Hall, and his 
two sisters, Elizabeth Prescott Hall and Frances Min- 
turn Hall, the family home at No. 208 Second Ave- 
nue. 

During this period our three older children were 
born, hence my time was much occupied with them. 
As my husband cared little for society, our life was 
extremely quiet, our social gaieties being for the most 
part confined to a pleasant family circle. 

Our eldest son, Samuel Prescott, was born at 
"Green Peace," South Boston. 

My mother thus recorded the event in her journal : 

September 13. — Before I open even my New Testament to- 
day I must make record of the joyful birth of Flossy's little 
son, which took place soon after i a.m.,. The boy is a hand- 
some infant. ... I quieted him until 5 a.m., when I slept two 
hours. God bless this dear little child. May he bring new 
peace and love to the house where he comes a little too soon 
for convenience — I mean for his uncle and aunts Hall. His 
father and mother will bless God for him, as I do. 
14 205 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

When I heard the baby's first cry it seemed to me 
the sweetest music to which I had ever listened. The 
nurse had formerly been a Shaker, and soothed the 
child with quaint melodies of that sect. 

He hears the ravens when they cry, 
He clothes the shining mead, 
And shall He not my wants supply 
With everything I need? 

The air was old, having little quavers savoring of the 
"tie-wig" period. Sammy was a nervous child and 
required much quieting. He took his daily nap out 
of doors, winter and summer. He was the first 
grandson, sister Laura's first child, born a month or 
two before, being a daughter. 

We named him for the two families, Samuel after 
my father, and Prescott for my husband's great- 
grandmother, Elizabeth Prescott, wife of the Rev. 
David Hall. She was descended from the Rev. Peter 
Bulkley, the founder of Concord, Massachusetts, and 
the lineal descendant of stout old Baron Bulkley, one 
of the men who wrested Magna Charta from King 
John and thus laid the foundations of the liberties of 
England and America. 

Samuel Prescott, my husband's great-greatuncle, 
accompanied Paul Revere on his famous ride. It 
must be confessed, however, that his errand was in 
part, at least, one of sentiment, as he was going to see 
his sweetheart in Concord. When Paul Revere was 
captured, Prescott escaped and carried the) news of 
the coming of the British to Concord. His name is 
duly inscribed on one of the sign-posts which indicate 

206 



MARRIED LIFE IN NEW JERSEY 

to the passer-by all the historic spots of the ancient 
town. I dislike this excess of labeling which leaves 
nothing to the imagination. 

When I told my father that we should name our 
boy for him, substituting Prescott for Gridley because 
the latter was such an ugly name, he replied very 
quietly that it belonged to a good old New England 
family. Boasting about one's ancestry was so re- 
pugnant to him that he did not think proper to tell us 
that Richard Gridley had been a distinguished engi- 
neer during the Revolution, while Samuel, his grand- 
father and namesake, had served as captain in the 
former's artillery regiment. 

Many times have I regretted not giving my son his 
grandfather's full name. He has atoned for my 
failure to do so by calling his son "Samuel Grid- 
ley." 

I had an excellent nurse to take care of the chil- 
dren, but the youngest always slept in our room. 
With Sam we had some terrible moments, owing to 
our extreme zeal in tucking him up. As he disliked 
the process, he often waked up and gave tongue. One 
night my husband grew so desperate that he proposed 
taking the baby down to the dining-room, two fligihts 
below, and allowing him to cry until he was tired! 
In reality, he was a most affectionate parent, but this 
wild utterance relieved his feelings ! 

I did groan sometimes about the loss of sleep. I 
remember with a blush that I foolishly made a com- 
plaint to a kinswoman of my husband's, wife of the 
Mr. Grinnell who financed the Arctic Expedition. 
She was a calm, elderly lady who had borne nine 

207 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

children. It is to be feared that she thought David 
Hall's wife was a grumbling young woman! 

At the time of our marriage my husband and I 
were not aware of any relationship existing between 
us. Some years later old General Greene, a devoted 
genealogist, proved to us that a distant kinsmanship 
existed through the Greenes. People of Rhode Island 
descent almost inevitably have ancestors belonging to 
this family. Like the Legion of Honor, it is hard to 
escape from. 

We had, also, a number of mutual relations, for 
two of his aunts, the Misses Eliza and Maria Hall, 
had married two of my greatuncles, Henry and Will- 
iam Ward. Evidently the families possessed mutual 
attraction. This did not prevent the two clans from 
taking a high attitude of impartial criticism each 
toward the other. I found, to my surprise, the traits 
which we had supposed to be Hall — and which we 
mildly criticized, were, on the contrary. Ward. They 
had been acquired by the Halls on their marriage with 
the latter family, so I was told ! 

These mutual relatives welcomed me very kindly 
to New York. Just across the way lived two cousins, 
Mr. and Mrs. Charles H. Ward, to whom we were 
much attached. Cousin Mary was only related to us 
by marriage, but her husband's relatives were de- 
lighted to adopt her as their own. To her joyous and 
generous soul it was a great pleasure to make other 
people happy. In her youth she had had so many ad- 
mirers that it was jokingly said she had gone through 
the alphabet and stopped at "W" because that was as 
far as she could go ! One young man fell so much in 

208 



MARRIED LIFE IN NEW JERSEY 

love with her that he disguised himself as a gardener 
and entered her father's employ. 

The most intimate friend of my girlhood, Louise 
Darling, had preceded me to New York. She had 
entered the Protestant Episcopal Sisterhood of Saint 
Mary, and was now Sister Constance. Her friends 
and parents had in vain remonstrated against this step. 
Yet we might have seen that it was in accord with 
her natural bent of mind. Brought up as a Unitarian, 
she had always been very devout, and while still very 
young had contemplated becoming a missionary. Not 
long after leaving school she became a convert to the? 
Episcopal faith, devoting herself enthusiastically to 
church work. 

When she entered the convent her heavy, beautiful 
blond hair was all cut off, for St. Mary's is a High 
Church sisterhood. In her girdle of black rope were 
tied three knots, representing the three vows of pov- 
erty, chastity and obedience. The late Rev. Morgan 
Dix, at that time a single man, was the Father Con- 
fessor of the establishment. I never could under- 
stand by what process of logic he could reconcile his 
encouragement of celibacy in such a young, enthu- 
siastic woman as my friend, with his own later en- 
trance into matrimony. Perhaps he changed his mind 
— but Sister Constance had taken the vows ! 

The sisterhood did not spend all their time in de- 
votional exercises, but engaged also in good works. 
Sister Constance painted religious pictures and taught 
in the school. She seemed entirely happy in her new 
life. I went to see her whenever I could, but she 
could not call upon us — or she thought she could not. 

209 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

She was one of those persons who carry out thor- 
oughly whatever they had undertaken. 

After our marriage Uncle Richard Ward kindly 
invited us to come and live with him. Although we 
did not accept the offer, it was gratifying. 

The furniture and effects of No. 8 Bond Street 
belonged to Uncle John Ward, who had died some 
years before. On the death of Uncle Richard they 
were divided among the eight heirs of the former. 
The uncles had occupied the roomy, old-fashioned 
house for many years. Not only their own posses- 
sions, but those of their relatives, had accumulated. 
Furniture, busts and pictures which were not wanted 
for the moment were left under the hospitable care 
of Uncle John. The result was a perfect maze of pos- 
sessions, some of them belonging to the estate of my 
grandfather, who had died thirty-five years before, 
some to Aunt Louisa Terry, who was living in Rome. 

What we should have done without my mother I do 
not know. Her excellent memory gave us the history 
of each doubtful piece. That set of furniture was 
bought by Grandfather Ward when Uncle Sam mar- 
ried Emily Astor and the young couple came to live 
with him at the comer house. Those pictures be- 
longed to grandfather's gallery; the Copley portraits 
of our ancestors had been purchased by Uncle John. 
The other heirs wisely left these details to her judg- 
ment. The main division took a little time, but was 
accomplished without much difficulty. The heirs or 
their representatives had several meetings and chose 
what they wanted. My aunt, Mrs. Mailliard, who was 
living in California, gave her share as a wedding- 

210 



MARRIED LIFE IN NEW JERSEY 

present to her three married Howe nieces, Julia, Flor- 
ence, and Laura. Hence I attended the meetings, as 
representing one of the eight heirs. 

The other heirs, the main business over, departed 
with light hearts. It was left for Cousin John Ward 
and me to attend to the final details. Days and weeks 
passed over our devoted heads and found us still at 
our task. A faithful old retainer lived in the house 
and aided us in our work. 

I noticed one singular fact — articles of furniture 
which no one wanted in the division assumed a price- 
less value when they were gone beyond recall. Did 
Cousin John and I, in solemn conclave, agree to sell, 
for the benefit of the eight heirs, a mahogany bed- 
stead, then every one regretted our rash act. 

Over Aunt Phebe's knitting we pondered long and 
earnestly. It was a half -finished stocking and the 
wool was moth-eaten, for Greataunt Phebe had been 
dead for years. We decided to run the risk of sacri- 
lege and destroy it. When Cousin John counted the 
great piles of plates he shut his eyes, saying it was 
easier for him to count in that way. 

A death-mask found in the attic was hard to iden- 
tify. When Uncle Sam called at No. 8 Bond Street, 
it was shown to him. "That is Maddie's mother," he 
said. I was grieved to have asked unwittingly such 
a painful question, for Maddie's mother was his first 
wife, Emily Astor, who had died many years before. 
"Maddie" was their daughter, Margaret Astor Ward, 
afterward Mrs. Winthrop Chanler. Uncle Sam's phras- 
ing of his answer showed his tact and desire to avoid 
making me feel I had committed a stupid blunder. 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

My aunt's present to us was a handsome one, even 
a third of an eighth representing quite a share of 
silver, furniture, etc. I also figured as a sort of 
residuary legatee, the heirs making me a number of 
presents ranging from a great mahogany bedstead 
down to small domestic articles of furniture. Hence 
I was well repaid for the trouble involved. 

My father still walked with a light, quick step and 
maintained his gallant bearing till he was seventy- 
two years old. Soon afterward his health began to 
fail, but in spite of pain and weakness he kept at work. 
In 1874 he wrote a brief report of his life-work for 
the blind, of which it has been said : 

"Were there no other monument to his memory, 
this would suffice." 

He still enjoyed his favorite exercise, riding on 
horseback, and took great pleasure in his grandchil- 
dren. In spite of his extremely busy life he had al- 
ways found time to write to his children — were it 
only a few affectionate lines. Two notes to sister 
Julia lie before me. 

Continental, Philadelphia, 
April I Si Sunday. 
Darling Dudie, — Journeying homeward from Washington I 
was obliged to lie over here by sick headache, which, however, 
is passing away. 

I have seen dear Sumner, who lies stranded for life I fear — 
a magnificent but mournful wreck. 

Washington is looking beautifully in the full bloom of 

spring. It is not cheering to leave it for the cold and still 

wintry north, except when one thinks of the sunlight of dear 

faces and the warmth of loving hearts. 

Love to Michael. Papa. 

212 



MARRIED LIFE IN NEW JERSEY 

Glen, Sunday, Sept. yth, '73- 

Darling Dudie, — Already I miss your sweet company and 
genial sympathy very much. 

Mamma and I had the most charming and felicitous journey 
down that is conceivable. . . . 

The peace and quiet, however, is sadly broken in upon to- 
day, and the confusion half-crazes me. Besides our immediate 
three selves there are the two dear mothers ^ and two dear 
babies; and two nurses and Zalinski and Maud Parks and 
Girlie [?] Blackler, three men, two women and Pad [Miss 
Paddock] — nineteen, all toldl 

The day is delicious indeed. I have taken both babies to ride 
on horseback, and enjoyed their sweet enjoyment. 

Laura and some of them have been to see Parker Lawton and 
carried to him fruit and flowers. 

I sent also a basket this afternoon to your old protegee Miss 
Taggart. 

Dear love to the ascetic Epirote and to all friends and the 
residuary legatee of all my affections. Papa. 

When he died in January, 1876, beautiful tributes 
were paid to his memory by all sorts and conditions 
of men — from the Governor and Legislature down to 
the feeble-minded children whom he had brought into 
the human fold. A great memorial meeting was held 
in his honor, where Laura Bridgman, with her pale, 
sorrow-stricken face, was "the silent orator of the 
occasion." 

Her health was seriously affected by my father's 
death, as was also that of sister Julia. 

From the poem of Oliver Wendell Holmes, I quote 
a few verses: 

How long the wreck-strewn journey seems 

To reach the far-off past 
That woke his youth from peaceful dreams 
With Freedom's trumpet-blast I 
1 Sister Laura and I. 

213 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Along her classic hillsides rung 

The Paynims' battle-cry, 
And like a red-cross knight he sprung 

For her to live or die. 

No trustier service claimed the wreath 

For Sparta's bravest son; 
No truer soldier sleeps beneath 

The mould of Marathon. 

Edward Everett Hale said, in part: 

You ask for his epitaph. It is a very simple epitaph. He 
found idiots chattering, taunted, and ridiculed by each village 
fool, and he left them cheerful and happy. He found the 
insane shut up in their wretched cells, miserable, starving, cold, 
and dying, and he left them happy, hopeful, and brave. He 
found the blind sitting in darkness and he left them glad in 
the sunshine of the love of God. 

The simplest tribute of all came from the poor 
children to whose minds he had brought light. 

"They say Doctor Howe will take care of the blind 
in heaven. Won't he take care of us, too?" 

On receiving my mother's Memoir of her husband, 
Florence Nightingale wrote as follows: 

London, June 7, '77. 

Dear Mrs. Howe, — It is like a breath from Heaven to one's 
overworked and well-nigh overwhelmed mind, your Memoir of 
one of the best and greatest men of our age, and your remem- 
brance. 

You have shown his many-sided life as known to few. You 
have shown in him a rarer and more fruitful man than even 
we, who had known and loved him for so long, knew. 

What has been a revealing to us of him will be even more 
§0 for the crpw4 of your readers who knew him but by th^ 

^14 



MARRIED LIFE IN NEW JERSEY 

dramatic Greek life: and by his work among the blind, deaf 
mutes and idiots. No one will know him quite till after you 
have been read. That is the privilege of your community 
with him — with his unconsciously heroic life. A great duty 
has been fulfilled \r\ making known his sympathy for every 
kind of misfortune, — his love of helping humanity, so to speak, 
ancient and modern, — his generous and persevering devotion to 
right, — his noble horror of helpless pity, — his indomitable faith 
in progress ; thanks to you. 

And how little he thought of reputation 1 That was the 
noblest thing of all. 

The pressure of ever-increasing illness and business — ^how 
little I thought to survive him — makes it difficult for me to 
write one unnecessary line. Our common friends, Mr. and 
Mrs. Bracebridge, Dr. Fowler, and how many others, are all 
gone before us. I 

In their names and in his name I bid with all my heart, 
Fare you very well, 

Florence Nightingale. 



On the anniversary of my birth, our only daughter, 
Caroline Minturn Hall, was bom at Portsmouth, near 
Newport, Rhode Island. One of her pictures exhib- 
ited at the Paris Salon shows the beloved landscape 
of "Oak Glen," which adjoins her birthplace. 

When our second son, Henry Marion Hall, was 
bom, we moved to the country, in order to give our 
three children greater liberty and more fresh air than 
they could enjoy in the city. For fifteen years we 
lived in Scotch Plains, a pretty, quaint old New Jer- 
sey town lying at the foot of the Watchung Moun- 
tains. The countryside in 1878 was still in a primi- 
tive condition. Scotch Plains was almost destitute 
of "modem conveniences," the gods of the servant- 
girl. A delusive bath-tub appeared very effective until 

215 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

you found that it was necessary to drag all the hot 
water up-stairs. We had a series of pumps indoors 
and out, but no set wash-tubs. 

There was neither gas, electricity, nor steam heat. 
We burned kerosene-oil and my husband wrestled 
with the hot-air furnace, which required such devo- 
tion that he christened it his black wife. 

Gradually all these things were improved, by per- 
sistent effort. Our landlord, young Doctor Coles, 
was our good friend, whom we persuaded to make 
many improvements. But in the beginning house- 
keeping was very difficult. Cooks looked upon us 
with an unfavorable eye, especially as there was no 
Roman Catholic Church in the town. 

My visits to the intelligence office were frequent 
and plaintive. Our neighbor, Mr. B , grew des- 
perate over the situation. When he was asked the 
searching question, "How many in fam'ly, sir?" he 
replied: "Seven children. But I will make away 
with some of them if you think that is too many!" 

Some of our adventures were very funny — in the 
retrospect. One green cook was much disturbed in 
mind about the asparagus. She could not wait for my 
promised help, but prepared the vegetable by neatly 
whittling off the tops. Great was the grief of our chil- 
dren, as this was the first asparagus of the season. 

Another cook of an ingenious turn of mind saved 
herself the trouble of going down one flight of stairs 
to fill her bedroom pitcher by immersing it in the 
tank in the attic. My husband could not understand 
why it took comparatively few strokes of the pump 
to fill the tank — ^which soon became empty again. 

216 



MARRIED LIFE IN NEW JERSEY 

One night our little daughter was disturbed by plas- 
ter falling on her face as she lay in bed. A glance at 
the ceiling revealed the cause. The stalwart foot and 
leg of the cook protruded from it! In going to dip 
her pitcher into the tank she had unwarily deviated 
from the narrow pathway which led to it, putting her 
foot through the unprotected lath and plaster ! 

Perhaps the most singular Irish bull was that of 
the functionary who had been directed to make the 
sandwiches "half jelly and half mutton." When we 
were well started on our travels we tasted the lunch- 
eon. It was horribly queer. Suddenly the truth 
flashed upon me! The literal-minded cook had com- 
bined these warring materials in every sandwich I 

The mistress made some mistakes as well as the 
cook. Seeing a material of the color of the ginger- 
bread often made in New England, I unhesitatingly 
mixed it with the batter. When the supposititious 
gingerbread came on the table it was very heavy and 
quite uneatable. Something must have been wrong 
with the oven ! The next time I began to make gin- 
gerbread the cook caught my hand. "Oh, Mrs. Hall ! 
Don't put that in! Thafs mustard f' My family 
were mercilessly merry over this mistake. 

I described the misadventure in Demoresfs Maga- 
zine, receiving five dollars for the article. Thus every 
time any one poked fun at me about the mustard 
gingerbread I countered with the five dollars ! Better 
still, by persistent efforts I learned — from Marion 
Harland's excellent receipt-book — to make ginger- 
bread that appeared seraphic to my children. 

When my husband once heartlessly observed that 

217 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

our sons could never twit their wives with mother*s 
cooking, a chorus went around the table, "Oh, but 
Mamma makes such lovely gingerbread !" And so I 
was honorably avenged. 

Fortunately we had a tower of strength in the chil- 
dren's faithful nurse, Mary Thompson. When cooks 
periodically failed us she valiantly walked into the 
kitchen and did their work, as well as her own. 

It must be confessed that Mary did not get along 
very well with the various cooks. She was greatly 
their superior in intelligence and character, as she 
well knew. Hence she did not always take enough 
pains to be agreeable to the reigning queen of the 
kitchen. One woman complained to me of this. 
"There we sit at table like two dumb brutes!" she 
indignantly remarked. 

In spite of all the troubles and trials of suburban 
life my husband and I greatly enjoyed having a 
house of our own. 

I was very anxious that my old friend, Sister Con- 
stance, should visit us during her summer vacation. 
She was at this time established at the head of a 
branch sisterhood in Memphis, Tennessee. Her par- 
ents had unavailingly remonstrated with the authori- 
ties over this change of domicile, for a Southern 
climate did not agree with her. 

In reply to my letter of invitation, she wrote me 
she was so tired that it was an effort to get up and 
walk across the room ! A violent epidemic of yellow 
fever suddenly broke out in her home district. Ex- 
hausted as she was, sh^ did not hesitate, but returned 
at once to the post of duty. In ten days she was dead ! 

218 



MARRIED LIFE IN NEW JERSEY 

When she lay dying they asked if she was ready 
to go. ''Aye, glad !" she replied. So died, at the age 
of thirty-two, a woman who gave her life for her 
people as truly and as nobly as any hero of the 
modern war! 

I have always blamed the Mother Superior for per- 
mitting this useless sacrifice. It was self-evident that 
in Sister Constance's exhausted condition she would 
at once fall a prey to the dreaded scourge. She 
should have been detained at the North long enough to 
recruit her strength before exposing her to an ordeal 
for which she was physically unfit. 



XVI 

RECONSTRUCTING A NEW JERSEY VILLAGE 

The Mutual Admiration Society of Scotch Plains. — My Hus- 
band Becomes a Leader in Local Politics and Activities. — 
The Passing of the Mossbacks. — How We Gained a Public 
Library, a New School-house and a New Truck-house, — An 
Overseer of the Poor with Peculiar Methods. 

DURING the summer of 1878 we tried the ex- 
periment of remaining in New Jersey. We 
never repeated it. The heat, especially in the eastern 
and inland part of the state, is much greater than that 
of New England. Miss Emily Coles, the sister of 
our landlord, desiring to do something pleasant for 
us, arranged a festivity in honor of my birthday. 
The event of the evening was the reading of tributes 
to my various excellent qualities, real or imaginary. 
These were neatly written on fancy cards adorned 
with pictures. As Miss Coles read each one, she gave 
the name of some lady or gentleman present. At first 
this puzzled me, for the guests looked very quiet and 
thoughtful — not in the least enthusiastic over my vir- 
tues. When Miss Coles handed me the basket with 
the cards the secret was revealed. She had written 
all the cards herself — and, in order to avoid monot- 
ony, had attributed the quotations to the Baptist 
dominie and the rest of the company. This was a 
meeting of the Mutual Admiration Society of the 

220 



RECONSTRUCTING A JERSEY VILLAGE 

place — which existed, I fancy, chiefly in the fertile 
brain of our good friend Miss Coles. 

We invited our neighbors to informal entertain- 
ments, without any mention of admiration to be 
either received or given. The refreshments were 
simple and appropriate to a small country place where 
ice-cream was not indigenous. Our friends came, and 
I learned later that people were glad to have us set 
an example of simplicity in entertainment. 

During our first years in New Jersey I was prin- 
cipally occupied with household and nursery cares. 
My husband soon began to interest himself in the life 
of the little town. A few years before we came there 
the managers of the local railroad (the New Jersey 
Central) wished to move it nearer to Scotch Plains. 
But certain property-owners, thinking they had the 
railroad at their mercy, named an unreasonable price 
for their land. The managers, finding they could 
make a better bargain elsewhere, moved the railroad 
farther away, leaving Scotch Plains more than a mile 
from the new station. 

It was governed by a triumvirate who gathered 
around the stove in the principal grocery-store. They 
were all hide-bound conservatives, not to say moss- 
backs. Their party — the Democratic — ruled the 
town. A witty friend of ours remarked that you 
could not do anything with a New Jersey town until 
the outlanders outnumbered the native inhabitants. 

My husband was a Republican of the most ardent 
type. He was also very public-spirited and soon be- 
came the leader of those who wanted to see things 
done in the village. Before long the Democratic ma- 

IS 221 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

jority was definitely lost and a Republican one took 
its place. 

There was no fire-engine in the town. One of the 
triumvirate could not see the necessity of having any. 
"Insure your house, and if it catches fire let it burn 
down." It did not occur to him that if every one 
followed this sweet and simple creed the insurance, 
companies would become bankrupt. 

My husband was made president of the volunteer 
fire company, and a campaign for improvement began. 
The neighboring town of Plainfield was younger but 
much larger and more prosperous than our village. 
Here there dwelt a hand fire-engine, old and retired, 
but still capable of usefulness. Plainfield was per- 
suaded to lend this to us. It was burnished and pol- 
ished with enthusiasm, coming out almost like new. 
Next a better building was needed to house it and the 
fire-truck. Men who could not give money were 
persuaded to give labor, and before long we had a 
good building, with a large hall capable of holding 
half the village on ceremonial occasions. True, it 
housed the engine and truck — but these could be 
wheeled out of doors in a trice and brought back at 
the close of a performance. Many were the ama- 
teur theatricals and the church fairs held in that 
truck-house, for the town had sadly needed such a 
hall. 

It also needed a public library. My husband deter- 
mined to found one that should last. Mr. Andrew 
Carnegie had not yet become the sponsor of such' 
institutions ; outside of New England, they were apt 
to fade away and die. 

222 



RECONSTRUCTING A JERSEY VILLAGE 

Mr. Hall's first step was to get a law passed by the 
Legislature making one thousand dollars sufficient! 
endowment for a free library. A large part of this 
sum was raised by Miss Mary N. Mead, a lovely and 
unselfish young woman living near the village with 
her sister, Mrs. Augustus D. Shepard. Another 
sister was the wife of William Dean Howells. Miss 
Mead's enthusiasm and personal charm enabled her 
to raise money where other people failed. She knew 
the funds were there, though to get them out resem- 
bled the task of Moses when he drew water from the 
rock. 

In the new building of the fire company were 
several upper rooms used for their occasional meet- 
ings. Mr. Hall had the brilliant idea of installing 
the library here, at a nominal rent of one dollar a 
year, the trustees to carpet and furnish the rooms as 
a quid pro quo. The fire company generously entered 
into the plan, and the library was formally opened 
with amateur theatricals by the school children of the 
village. We had discovered, early in our residence in 
Scotch Plains, that the way to reach the parents was 
through their boys and girls. I wrote the little play 
which went off very successfully. The library was 
proudly thrown open for the inspection of the public. 
Magazines were provided for the reading-room, with 
games in the small rooms set apart for the children. 

Among the obstacles we had to encounter was the 
opposition of a worthy lady who disapproved of 
public libraries because she feared some of the books 
might be objectionable. She had a long talk with my 
mother and me in which she freed her mind as to the 

223 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

iniquity of the theater, and expressed her grave 
doubts about the proposed library. "The works of 
Swedenborg might be placed there," she declared ! I 
doubt whether she had ever read any of the works 
of the famous mystic, but she fancied something must 
be wrong with him. She doubtless knew that his 
writings are sent free to any library desiring them. 

The library once established, she sent tracts to it, 
but these Mr. Hall firmly refused to place on the 
tables. 

In selecting the trustees he took great pains that all 
cliques and sets of the little place should be repre- 
sented, no one being given an overwhelming prepon- 
derance. He drew up the constitution making the 
governing body a close corporation, with the thought 
of perpetuating this balance of parties. 

The little library had distinguished friends. Mr. 
Howells sent boxes of books from time to time, while 
Mrs. Elliott F. Shepard, sister-in-law of our Mr. 
Shepard (Augustus D.), contributed liberally. But, 
best of all, the people of the village, both rich and 
poor, became interested in it, and adopted it as their 
own. Many were the fairs given to raise money for 
it. It has passed through various vicissitudes, but 
was still living and flourishing at last accounts. 

I have said that my husband served as trustee of 
the public library, president of the truck (fire) com- 
pany, overseer of the poor and vestryman of All 
Souls' Church. He was soon called upon to fill so 
many honorable but unremunerative offices that we 
called him "Pooh Bah." Thus he became a school 
trustee and a member of the town committee of three. 

224 



RECONSTRUCTING A JERSEY VILLAGE 

The affairs of the village were managed by this body. 
The school-house had grown old in service, so that a 
new one was badly needed. Between the floors lived 
rats, for which the boys fished through the cracks. 

As our sons attended this school in their early years, 
we sadly realized its deficiencies. My husband deter- 
mined that there should be a new one. The people 
of means in the village sent their children to private 
schools elsewhere; some had none to send. Hence 
most of them were inclined to oppose the erection of 
a new building, as it would increase their taxes with- 
out being of any personal benefit to them. The moss- 
back faction murmured mechanically their shibboleth, 
"What was good enough for our fathers is good 
enough for us." The project was at first defeated. 
Then my husband "got mad" and made things move. 

A law had recently been enacted in New Jersey 
empowering women to vote at school meetings. Mr. 
Hall determined to fall back on this, should other 
means fail. On the fateful evening a number of 
women were gathered in our parlors, ready to march 
over to the neighboring school-house and vote, 
should our ballots be needed. A pretty young mar- 
ried woman said, "Oh, Fm so afraid !" I myself was 
not at all frightened, neither do I think the others 
were. 

After a time my husband entered, triumphant ! He 
and his friends had carried the day — the new school- 
house was won and our votes had not been needed. 
He had a wonderful power of enthusiasm which, 
combined with hard work, enabled him to carry out 
many projects. 

225 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

The little town of Scotch Plains won not only a 
new, but a beautiful school building. Through the 
good offices of Mr. Augustus D. Shepard, brother- 
in-law of William Rutherford Alead, the firm of 
McKim, Mead & White consented to erect this at a 
low price. My husband and the other trustees gave 
the most careful attention to all the details, in order 
that the school might be as convenient, yet as inex- 
pensive, as possible. I believe he enjoyed the laying 
of every brick ! 

Since we women had not actually attended the 
meeting w^hich decided the fate of the school-house, it 
w^as thought well that our initial entrance upon the 
educational and political arena should be at an elec- 
tion that did not promise to stir up excitement. Ac- 
cordingly three or four of us attended the meeting in 
March of the following year and voted peaceably on 
all questions. 

A magic change took place on that day! At pre- 
vious school meetings peanut shells and other debris 
had been scattered about the floor, and the electors 
had mistaken the ink-wxlls in the children's desks for 
cuspidors ! It had always been necessary to close the 
school for a day in order to clear up after the "illic- 
thors." Behold, on the coming of the women neat- 
ness and order reigned. Next day school kept as 
usual. 

The overseer of the poor in our little village was 
in his private capacity a landlord. A certain family 
failing to pay their rent, he turned them out of doors 
in the middle of winter. They camped out on a 
piazza until they could find other quarters. My hus- 

226 



RECONSTRUCTING A JERSEY VILLAGE 

band was so indignant that at the next election he 
ran for the office, and was duly elected. Quite a 
little work but no salary was attached to it. The 
four dollars which he received were presumably for 
expenses. 

His friends amused themselves with guying the 
new overseer of the poor by sending tramps to call 
on him. I remember only one real pauper with whom 
he had to deal — a respectable old woman no longer 
able to maintain herself. There was outside aid to be 
given, notably to the family of a man in jail. 

At the instigation of the owner, a woman, he had 
set fire to her house, and was caught in the act. When 
the trial came she had her children in court, and was 

let off. S had children, also, but they were at 

home. Hence he was sent to prison. He no doubt 
deserved it, but, as the civil authorities made no pro- 
vision for the maintenance of his family, they had a 
hard time to get along. We realized the terrible 
injustice of taking away the breadwinner and expect- 
ing his wretched wife and children to care for them- 
selves without outside assistance. 

There were, when we came to Scotch Plains, a 
Baptist and a Methodist church, and a struggling lit- 
tle Episcopal mission. My husband and I decided to 
throw in our fortunes with the last named. We liked 
the clergyman in charge, Rev. Charles L. Sykes, very 
much, and we both had a tendency to take the part 
of the under dog. Mr. Sykes' talents qualified him 
to occupy a more important position, but clergyman's 
sore throat obliged him to choose a small cure. He 
was one of the most devout men that I have ever 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

known. He did not read nor recite prayers, like most 
ministers. When he prayed we felt that his soul was 
lifted up to God. His wife was a woman of ability, 
cheery and courageous ; we soon became great friends. 

When the mission services were temporarily dis- 
continued, we invited Mr. Sykes to deliver a series of 
parlor lectures. Miss Mead and I arranged the 
course, our friends and neighbors subscribing and 
giving their parlors. We were only able to give a 
small fee for the talks, but Mr. and Mrs. Sykes were 
so fond of literature that the preparation of the lec- 
tures was a labor of love. By and by a pretty little 
stone church was built for the mission. Unfortu- 
nately, the expense of the building was greater than 
the small congregation could afford, and for years 
there was a desperate struggle with a debt, which was 
finally paid off. My husband was too wise to advise 
this injudicious outlay, but he served for some years 
as a vestryman. 

The sister who had been my mate and dear com- 
panion from early childhood, Julia Romana Anagnos, 
died of typhoid fever in March, 1886. 

The Metaphysical Club, of which she was the 
founder and president, published a little volume con- 
taining the tributes to her memory. The following 
verses are by Dr. T. W. Parsons. 

GIULIA ROMANA ANAGNOS 

Giulia Romana! how thy trembling beauty, 
That oft would shudder at one breath of praise, 

Comes back to me! before the trump of duty 
Had marshalled thee in life's laborious ways. 



RECONSTRUCTING A JERSEY VILLAGE 

We used to wonder at thy blush in hearing 

Thy parents praised. We now know what it meant : 

A consciousness of their gifts reappearing 
Perchance, in thine — to consummation blent. 

Oh, she was beautiful, beyond all magic 
Of sculptor's hand, or pencil to portray! 

Something angelical, divinely tragic. 
Tempered the smile that round her lips would play. 

Dear first born daughter of a hero's heart 1 

Pass to perfection, all but perfect here ! 
We weep not much, remembering where thou art. 

Yet, child of Poesy! receive a tear. 

T. W. Parsons. 

Some nine months after the death of sister Julia 
I was attacked with ..rheumatic fever. It did not, 
however, as in her case, turn into typhoid. My 
mother and husband were greatly alarmed, especially 
as Gen. John A. Logan died of the same disease, dur- 
ing my illness. In the midst of her distress my mother 
had a strange feeling that she could save my life by 
an effort of will. She did not content herself with 
praying only, but strongly opposed the administra- 
tion of narcotics which the nurse in attendance was 
only too ready to give me in order that she herself 
might sleep. My mother determined that I should 
no longer be dosed with these. She sat by my bed- 
side one night till the small hours of the morning, 
when I dropped off into a natural sleep. To her vigi- 
lance I probably owe my life. 

One morning while I lay very ill she went quietly 
into my husband's room, asking him to come down- 
stairs at once. He went immediately and found the 

239 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

kitchen on fire, the Irish servant- women in a panic 
of alarm. Seeing at a glance the cause of the trouble, 
he caught up the blazing student-lamp and hurled it 
out into the snow. It was then an easy task for him 
to scrape down the flames from the woodwork. All 
this was done so quietly that I knew nothing of the 
matter. 

The physician who attended me was Dr. Abraham 
Coles, the father of our landlord. He was an excel- 
lent doctor and our very good friend. Doctor Coles 
was an elderly man, large and heavy. He was still 
handsome, with a wealth of hair that was almost 
white. The winter of 1886-87 was a very severe one, 
the ground covered with ice. Mother made! a little 
path to the gate with the poker. She noticed with 
pleasure that Doctor Coles walked in her little poker 
path. 

She wrote many letters to my husband, as he at- 
tended to some of her business affairs. In this cor- 
respondence she chronicles with affectionate interest 
the doings of the Hall family, telling us also of her 
own proceedings. 

Boston, June 8th, '93. 
My dear David, — ... I telegraphed you to-day to send 
some flowers for me to the Players' Club for my dear friend, 
Edwin Booth. If you have not done this before receiving this 
letter it will be too late, as the service will be at 9 a.m. to- 
morrow in N. Y., the burial to be here, the same evening, I 
suppose. You will send me the bill. . . . 

241 Beacon St., Boston, 

June 8th, 1896. 
My dear David, — I will do my best to copy a verse of the 
"Battle Hymn" to-day, but, oh! I write, every day, until I 

230 



RECONSTRUCTING A JERSEY VILLAGE 

fairly ache, and it is mostly, or in great part, for other people's 
pleasure or benefit. I shall write to dear Flossy as soon as 
I can. Tell her for me that I heard pleasant things about our 
dear Carrie from Mrs. Sally Whitman, recently returned from 
a brief stay in Paris. 

Always your affect. 

Julia W. Howe. 

P. S. — You see, I have done it. 

The baby mentioned in the following letter was 
our mother's first great-grandchild, little Julia Ward 
Howe H^ll. 

241 Beacon St., 
June i6th, 1903. 

Dear David, — ... I saw your dear Harry last evening. 
He seemed well — I thought him rather sober, as well he may 
be, with a family to provide for. The Baby, not the less, is a 
very welcome little creature, and it was a pleasant surprise 
when, on my birthday, the little Mother laid the little daughter 
on my lap. I returned on Sunday from a long visit in Gardi- 
ner. Always Your very affectionate 

Julia Ward Howe. 

In the following letter, we see my mother making 
her annual pilgrimage to the State House to attend 
the suffrage hearing. Neither the bitter winter 
Veather nor the infirmities of age could restrain her 
dauntless spirit. 

March 7th, igos. 
My dear David, — . . . Tell Flossy that I have passed the 
morning at a State House hearing in behalf of a bill to have 
the school committee here appointed by the Mayor, instead of 
being elected by the people. I spoke against the bill, and hope 
you would have done so in my place. 

231 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

My husband was greatly delighted with my 
mother's Reminiscences and wrote her as follows : 

31 Pine Street, New York, 
February 15th, igoi. 
Dear Mrs. Howe, — Though I was a long time getting to it, 
when once I started in to read your Reminiscences I was obliged 
to finish them at as nearly one sitting as the exigencies of the 
"wrastle for hash" would permit 

I have not been so fascinated with any book since the old 
days when as a boy I used to sit up half the night to finish 
one of the Waverly Novels. 

I had but two regrets when late last evening I read the 
beautiful lines with which the book concludes : — the first that 
there was not another volume, and the second that, charming 
as it all is, it is after all such an inadequate presentation of the 
life which is of such inexpressible value to us all. May I 
add that I hope you will take better care of it than you have 
recently been taking? 

With best love 

Ever very affectionately 

D. P. Hall. 



XVII 



'l TAKE MY PEN IN HAND" 



Following the Family Tradition. — "Demorest's" and "Jennie 
June." — Marion Crawford and the Little Green Parlor. — 
Town and Country Club. — Charles Dudley Warner. — How 

I Came to Write About Manners. — Life of Laura Bridgman. 
— Helen Keller at the Perkins Institution. — A Luncheon at 

"Boothden," the Home of Edwin Booth. — Joseph Jefferson 
and William Warren. 

THE five children of our parents have all written 
and published books. We have thus followed 
their example and an hereditary impulse which made 
writing an easy method of expression for us. 

My father published a history of the Greek revolu- 
tion while he was still under thirty. Although essen- 
tially a man of action, he was accustomed throughout 
his long life to write reports, pamphlets and letters to 
the newspapers — in a word, to elicit the interest and 
good-will of his fellow-men in his work. 

My mother is best known as the author of the 
"Battle Hymn of the Republic," but she also pub- 
lished maiiy volumes of verse and prose. In later 
years she appealed much to the public, and especially 
to her fellow-women. 

Sister Julia wrote stories and verses from her 
earliest childhood. She published a volume of poems, 

2ZZ 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

entitled Stray Chords, and a little book, Philosophic^ 
Quastor, describing the Concord School of Philoso- 
phy. Our mother considered this, her eldest daughter, 
as the most talented of her children. Brother Harry 
did not turn to literature until a later period in life. 
His works, although primarily technical and scientific, 
are thought to show a gift for literary expression. 
The award of gold medals on both sides of the Atlan- 
tic and of decorations by foreign governments was 
doubtless won by lucidity of expression as well as 
technical merit. 

Sister Laura began to write rhymes for children 
soon after her marriage. They were published in 
Saint Nicholas, with illustrations by J. A. Mitchell, 
afterward the editor of Life. Their merit and charm 
were quickly recognized. She at once won the favor 
of the public, and has held it ever since. Captain 
January is the best known of her many books. She 
is also the author of Journals and Letters of Samuel 
Gridley Howe and, in collaboration with sister Maud, 
of Julia Ward Howe. In the preparation of the last- 
named book, I gave some assistance. 

Sister Maud published novels and stories before 
her marriage. Her later books, Beata Roma, Two in 
Italy, etc., telling of her life and experience in the 
Eternal City and elsewhere, have won a genuine suc- 
cess. 

Thus when I began to think of adding a little to 
our income, writing for the newspapers and maga- 
zines seemed the easiest thing to do. We had now 
four children, each of whom, as we held, had brought 
us good fortune. This pleasant theory was probably 

234 



'7 TAKE MY PEN IN HAND'' 

suggested by Bret Harte's "Luck of Roaring Camp." 
They certainly brought us an incentive for new 
effort, which is the best form of good fortune. In 
story-writing I was not very successful. My natural 
mode of expression was in sketches and essays, often 
of a humorous character. 

My mother was much interested in my new ven- 
ture, and gave me letters to various editors, including 
Mrs. J. C. Croly ("Jennie June"), the editor of 
Demoresfs Magazine. She was extremely kind to 
me, and I wrote many articles for her. Mrs. Croly 
was very fair, if not pale, with blue eyes and light 
hair. Her face wore a rather worried expression, 
for her life was not an easy one. Her husband was 
then living, but his invalid condition added to her 
cares. She held pleasant evening receptions, at one 
of which I heard Marshall P. Wilder, the humorist. 
He had a real power of mimicry, but his delineations 
were not always pleasant. One of them was "The 
Idiot Boy." 

In these days I made pilgrimages to editorial dens, 
and was surprised at the wonderful flow of conversa- 
tion issuing from the mouths of powerful personages. 
Why do editors talk so much to the neophyte ? They 
kindly gave me a great deal of information, but it 
was gradually borne in upon me that they talked in 
order to protect themselves from boredom at my 
hands. Did they not know, from long and painful 
experience, just what every beginner at the trade 
would inevitably say? Hence they forestalled my 
uninteresting remarks — and answered my unformed 
questions in the proper way. I noticed that, after a 

235 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

certain amount of information had been imparted to 
me, the editor would take up a paper and become 
deeply absorbed in its contents. This was the signal 
for me to go. I soon learned not to invade the editor 
in his den, unless he or she encouraged me to do so. 

The following letter was written apropos of my 
pilgrimages to editorial dens: 

Scotch Plains, 
Sunday P.M., 
Nov. I, '85. 

Dearest Laura, — I was werry plose and thankful to receive 
your kind letter with so many addresses — werry nice kind & 
tanky much. 

But oh! Lovely as is a Haddress, it is perhaps the right 
address which fills us with the most lasting joy — as hennabling 
a feller to find the zbodd, as it were. 

I went to the Tribune Building — there was no Andrews 
Bazar there — the hoary bearded Janitor suggested Morse 
building the Jan. of latter, said try Tract Building. At last 
after I had wandered up and down a kindly news paper ad- 
vertising man told me he didn't think there was "no such 
a person." Or rather he told me he thought it had changed its 
name and become "The American Bazaar" where of he gimme 
the number but was too tired to look it up that day. 

Newport life furnished an excellent opportunity 
for summer correspondence. We lived near enough 
the town to enjoy something of its pleasures, yet far 
enough away to avoid absorption in the whirl- 
pool of gaiety. When we were girls going into soci- 
ety we should have preferred to be nearer the center 
of things. But the six-mile trip to Newport was in 
reality a blessing. It enabled us to view the summer 
doings with a critical though friendly eye. 

Those who suppose that Newport society is en- 
236 



"I TAKE MY PEN IN HAND'' 

tirely composed of frivolous people do not know the 
place. Its matchless climate, delightful air and 
peaceful beauty have always attracted people of quiet 
tastes, men of letters and artists. Colonel Waring, 
who did such important work in conquering yellow 
fever, lived for many years in Newport, where he 
had a model farm. 

He was a very handsome man, with dark eyes, gray 
hair, and a waxed mustache. In the early days of the 
Town and Country Club he took part in the "admir- 
able fooleries" of which Colonel Higginson and my 
mother have both given accounts. Kate Field often 
came to the meetings, but did not, so far as I remem- 
ber, take any part in the program. When at New- 
port she stayed at the house of her aunt, Mrs. San- 
ford, in the latter's villa on the Point. From her 
"Juliet" window with its little balcony hung high in 
air she could look out over the peaceful waters of 
the harbor and watch the beautiful Newport sunsets. 
Kate Field had very handsome hair which at one 
time she wore floating over her shoulders. This 
fashion, which lasted only a short time, was not be- 
coming to her. As she was rather short, the long 
and heavy hair tended to dwarf her height, while its 
mass seemed out of proportion to her slender figure. 

The diction of General Cullom, one of the officers 
of the Town and Country Club, was peculiar. When 
at a loss for a word, he deliberately remarked, "Pup- 
pup-pup," occasionally changing it for "Pam-pam- 
pam." To hear this courtly, elderly gentleman say 
with perfect gravity, "Did you go, pam-pam-pam to 
the Casino this morning?" was surprising. 
i6 237 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

When General Cullom kindly offered to give be- 
fore the club a talk on the French chateaux, illus- 
trated by lantern slides, we all felt anxiety. Won- 
derful to say, neither ''pup-pups" nor "pam-pams" 
marred the smoothness of the address! 

Prof. Alexander Agassiz, whose summers were 
spent at Newport, when he was not traveling about 
the world on his yacht, gave an illustrated lecture on 
the Panama Canal which was of especial interest. 
The French had then abandoned their attempt and 
the United States had not yet undertaken to build it. 
A series of mournful lantern sHdes showed the 
wrecks of the French machinery, and the excavations, 
which seemed small enough compared with the gigan- 
tic nature of the undertaking. Professor Agassiz was 
clearly of the opinion that, owing to the overflowing 
of the Chagres River, it was not possible to build a 
canal at that point. 

Charles Dudley Warner, who read extremely well, 
gave us, with realistic effect, his delightful sketch, 
"The Bear Is Coming on." We almost saw the rasp- 
berry-bushes and felt the animal bearing down upon 
us. Another sketch, relating to heaven and hell, was 
witty, but too frivolous in tone to suit the orthodox 
members of the club. They were rather scandalized at it. 

In the summer of 1881 we had the happiness of 
counting our aunt Louisa and her family as our 
quasi-neighbors. She had been the family beauty, 
but was less clever than her sisters Julia and Annie. 
She was a woman of much charm and, like Uncle 
Sam, showed signs of her French descent. With 
her husband and their daughter Margaret she 

238 



'7 TAKE MY PEN IN HAND'' 

spent the season at one of the diff cottages at New- 
port. ''Daisy" was a debutante, and interested in the 
gaieties of the season. Hence her half-brother, 
Marion Crawford, who loved the quiet of the coun- 
try, spent much of his time with us at "Oak Glen." 
He was devoted to my mother and she was very fond 
of him. Her house in Boston and her Newport home 
were harbors of refuge to him in the years of his 
bachelorhood, many of which he spent in this country. 
We found him the most delightful of housemates. 
Genial, cheery and charming, he never availed him- 
self of the masculine privilege of grumbling, but took 
things as he found them. Mother said of him, "He 
is as easy as an old shoe." My youngest child, John 
Howe Hall, was born that summer. The stairs at 
"Oak Glen" were rather fatiguing for me to climb, 
when I first came down-stairs after his birth. So 
Cousin Marion, who was both tall and strong, would 
pick me up like a baby and carry me up-stairs. He 
was a very handsome man, with blue eyes like his 
father's, regular features, and curly brown hair. 
This, alas! was already beginning to show a small 
bare place on the crown, in spite of his mother's faith- 
ful efforts with hair tonic. 

Sister Maud spent the summer of 1881 with my 
aunt, Mrs. Mailliard, who then lived on a great ranch 
in California. Some of her experiences there are 
described in her novel, The San Rosario Ranch. My 
mother was invited to take part in amateur theatricals 
at Newport during this eventful season. In spite of 
her sixty-seven years, she was the first of the com- 
pany to master her lines. 

239 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

She acted her part with spirit and gaiety, but could 
not resist the temptation to "gag'' the lines. Thus in 
speaking of doctors who arranged, in Bob Sawyer 
style, to have themselves called out, she mentioned the 
names of Doctor Cleveland and other physicians 
spending the summer in Newport. 

As bad luck would have it, this gentleman, who 
had a large practice, was actually summoned from 
the hall and arose to go, blushing furiously! 

Crawford had come to America, intending to live 
here. He thought seriously of taking up the profes- 
sion of philology, having a talent for languages. As 
he possessed a good voice, he also thought of going 
on the operatic stage. His ear for music was some- 
what faulty, but this defect, he was assured, need not, 
after the proper training of his voice, prevent his sing- 
ing correctly. 

While he was in an undecided frame of mind he 
wrote, as an experiment, his first novel, Mr. Isaacs. 
Its immediate success banished all doubt as to his 
career. 

It was in the "little green parlor" at "Oak Glen" 
that he composed a large part of this story. Here, 
also, sister Maud and I often sat with our writing. 
The little green parlor is a grassy crescent surrounded 
on all sides by a hedge of tall cedar-trees. These have 
now grown so tall as almost to conceal the house from 
the view of passers-by. 

In these days Messrs. Dana Estes & Co. proposed 
to my mother the preparation of a book on manners, 
dwelling especially on the origin of customs. She 
did not care to undertake it, but Crawford thought he 

240 



'7 TAKE MY PEN IN HAND'' 

might possibly do so, and sister Maud wrote a chap- 
ter. When both abandoned the idea it seemed to me 
a great pity to let this opportunity go to waste. I 
wrote to Mr. Estes, asking whether he would like me 
to write the book. He approved of my suggestion, 
and Social Customs was the result. I was glad to 
carry out, within certain limits, his plan of noting 
the meaning and origin of customs. It was not pos- 
sible, however, with the time at my command, to make 
an exhaustive historic study of the subject. But I was 
able to analyze it and so present general rules, rather 
than a mass of unexplained technical details. Look- 
ing thus at the matter, from an outside point of view, 
it was possible to treat it with a light touch instead 
of in the ponderous vein formerly considered neces- 
sary. I thought it right to speak occasionally of the 
humorous aspects of the subject, while emphasizing 
the intrinsic value and importance of good manners. 
The critics hailed the book as a new departure in the 
literature of the subject, and spoke very handsomely 
of it. It was especially gratifying to receive from 
the Brussels Institute of Sociology a good-sized vol- 
ume containing, among other things, a notice of my 
book. The following letter accompanied it : 

Instituts Solvay. 
Institut de Sociologie Bruxelles (Belgium). 
Madame: — The attention of a group of searchers at the 
Solvay Institute of Sociology has been directed upon one of 
your last works, and they are anxious to have a biographical 
note relating to you inserted in the sociological record recently 
organized at the said institute. 

Yours sincerely, 
D. Warnoth, Chief of the Service of Documentation. 
241 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

It has been already said that the case of Laura 
Bridgman excited deep interest. My father's reports 
were awaited as eagerly as novels, and were trans- 
lated into several foreign languages. In 1846, when 
she had been nine years under instruction, he thought 
of writing an account of her education and of com- 
municating with Messrs. Harper about its publication. 

He never found time to carry out his purpose. 
There was always some class of unfortunates who 
needed his championship, some wrong that must be 
set right. It is deeply to be regretted that he never 
had the leisure to tell the story of his most conspicu- 
ous achievement. The materials were all at hand. A 
minute account of Laura's progress had been kept in 
the school journals. There were also my father's 
own reports, notes and correspondence, as well as 
Laura's letters and the journals which she kept for 
some years. By the desire of our brother-in-law, 
Michael Anagnos, and with his help, sister Maud and 
I undertook to carry out our father's intention and 
tell the story of Laura Bridgman. Our chief diffi- 
culty lay in the wealth of material. We held many 
consultations, but to my sister belongs the chief credit 
of the work. My share consisted principally in de- 
scribing the technical part of Laura's education. 

The work was of absorbing interest. In tracing 
this drama of the birth of a human soul, we felt an 
echo of the thrill which came to my father when he 
saw Laura's face suddenly ''lighted up with a human 
expression : it was no longer a dog or parrot — it was 
an immortal spirit, eagerly seizing upon a new link 
of union with other spirits!" 

242 



^7 TAKE MY PEN IN HAND'' 

No wonder that he exclaimed, "Eureka 1" 

His graphic description of these first wonderful 
steps is quoted — with due credit to Doctor Howe — in 
Dickens' American Notes. 

Since Laura's was the first case of the sort in the 
world, it was necessary for my father to devise his 
own methods. A special teacher was employed for 
her, several devoted women filling this post in turn. 

My father always superintended her education, and 
recorded every step — telling us how he taught her the 
use of prepositions, adjectives and verbs. 

An excellent speller herself, in her later years she 
taught the little blind children how to spell. Laura 
Bridgman had the pride of intellect, in spite of her 
infirmities, and was inclined to look down upon peo- 
ple of inferior mind or education. The lessons in 
conduct which the ordinary child learns from the ex- 
ample of those around him Laura had to learn from 
books or from conversation with her teacher. Moral, 
ethical, and later spiritual problems aroused her deep 
interest. Her writings — and they are many — show a 
soul as white and innocent as that of a little child. 

Laura was well trained in the domestic arts. She 
was an exquisite needlewoman, her darning being a 
"poem in linen." She could also knit and crochet ex- 
tremely well, making the fine beaded purses then, in 
fashion. Indeed, the sale of her handiwork contrib- 
uted to her own support. She kept her room in 
beautiful order, dusting the most delicate objects 
without injury to them. One of Laura's amusements 
was to arrange my mother's bureau drawers. The 
latter disliked having any one meddle with her things, 

«43 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

but Laura's touch was so delicate that she was allowed 
thus to officiate as "mistress of the wardrobe." 

Best of all, she enjoyed life in spite of her many 
deprivations, making the most of the little pleasures 
that came to her. The following is one of her 
"poems" : 

LIGHT AND DARKNESS 

BY 

Laura Bridgman 
Light represents day. 

Light is more brilliant than ruby, even diamond. 
Light is whiter than snow. 
Darkness is nightlike. 
It looks as black as iron 
Darkness is a sorrow. 
Joy is a thrilling rapture. 

Light yields a shooting joy through the human [heart]. 
Light is sweet as honey, but 
Darkness is bitter as salt and even vinegar. 
Light is finer than gold and even finest gold. 
Joy is a r^al light, 
Joy is a blazing flame. 
Darkness is frosty. 
A good sleep is a white curtain. 
A bad sleep is a black curtain. 

In the late 'eighties the father of Helen Keller 
wrote to Mr. Anagnos, then director of the Perkins 
Institution, asking his assistance in the education of 
his little daughter. My brother-in-law chose Miss 
Annie Sullivan, herself partially blind and a graduate 
of the Institution, for Helen's instructor. Miss Sulli- 
van spent six months studying Doctor Howe's reports 
before entering upon her task. Every step that Laura 
had taken little Helen now followed exactly. Her 

2^ 



"I TAKE MY PEN IN HAND'' 

progress was more rapid, as that of my father^s later 
blind deaf-mute pupils had been. But the details of 
her case were very much like that of Laura Bridgman. 
Helen spent three years at the Perkins Institution 
under the charge of her special teacher, Miss Sul- 
livan. 

There I had the pleasure of seeing her a number 
of times in her childhood, and of talking with her in 
the finger language. When we spoke of a brook, she 
illustrated its movements by dancing. I noticed with 
surprise that she did not move about with the perfect 
freedom common to the blind children brought up at 
the Institution. They were accustomed to walk about 
alone, and to dash up and down stairs with utter fear- 
lessness. Whether Helen later learned to go about 
in this way I cannot say. When she was about fifteen, 
we met again at the Kindergarten for the Blind, an 
off-shoot of the Perkins Institution founded and ad- 
ministered by Mr. Anagnos. In conversing with 
Helen I was struck with her intelligence. In these 
days I heard her talk with her voice as well as with 
her fingers. 

Helen wrote me the following letter, after reading 
my sketch of my father's life, published in the Wide- 
Awake magazine. 

South Boston, Mass., 

December 2, 1890. 
My dear Mrs. Hall, — I want to tell you how much I enjoyed 
hearing about your dear Father, and all the brave, generous 
things he did for the Greeks, and for all who were poor and 
unhappy. I think the children who read Wide Awake must 
have been greatly interested in j^our story, but they cannot love 
Dr. Howe as we little blind girls do. Teacher says, she wpul4 

245 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

not have known how to teach me if your Father had not 
taught Laura Bridgman first, and that is why I feel so grateful 
to him. How dreadful it would have been if I could not have 
learned like other boys and girls ! I am sure I should have 
been very sorrowful with no one to talk to me, and so would 
Edith and many others, but it is too sad to think about, is it 
not? When you come to Boston I hope you will tell me more 
about your Father, and what you did when you were a little 
girl. Mr. Anagnos is going to show me Byron's helmet some 
day. Teacher sends her kind regards to you. 
Lovingly your little friend, 

Helen A. Keller. 

In these years Edwin Booth spent the summer at 
his pretty red-roofed villa, "Boothden," on Indian 
Avenue. It was then a quiet and retired part of the 
island of Rhode Island, yet within easy reach of 
Newport. The house was placed so near the rocky 
shore that the ocean breezes might have been too bois- 
terous had not awnings screened the wide piazzas. 
A large and pleasant boat-house equipped with a sit- 
ting- or lounging-room stood on the shore. 

"Boothden" was only four miles from "Oak Glen," 
so that we were country neighbors of Mr. Booth and 
his charming daughter. We had the pleasure of see- 
ing them from time to time. When we were invited 
to take luncheon at their villa, to meet Joseph Jeffer- 
son, his wife and daughter, and William Warren, the 
veteran comedian of the Boston Museum, it seemed 
too wonderful to be true. 

Miss Edwina Booth (whom I remembered as 
Baby Booth) received us with a grace and charm that 
vividly recalled her lovely young mother, dead many 
years before. The resemblance to Mrs. Booth was 
almost startling. It seemed as if the beloved wife, 

^46 



"I TAKE MY PEN IN HAND'' 

young and fair as of old, had returned to this earth. 
We saw the same slender figure, the same movements, 
as I fancied. What a strange thing is the inheritance 
of gesture! There could have been no conscious imi- 
tation, for Miss Booth could not have remembered 
her mother. 

The three distinguished actors had rashly gone for 
a sail in Mr. Booth's yacht. It is always rash to go 
out in a sail-boat if you expect to return at any par- 
ticular hour. 

When they finally arrived their entrance was like a 
scene upon the stage. Their behavior was not at all 
theatrical, but they were mariners returning from a 
stormy trip. A good stiff breeze had blown them 
all about, the waves had given them a good wetting, 
while Mr. Jefferson had lost his hat overboard. 

They took all these small mishaps in the best pos- 
sible humor, as a part of life's comedy. Joe Jefferson 
had substituted a red bandanna handkerchief for the 
lost hat and treated the whole affair as a delightful 
joke. Presently we all sat down to a luncheon elegant 
and elaborate, after the fashion of the time, the table 
being faultless in its service and appointments. 

Joseph Jefferson was brilliant and delightful, evi- 
dently enjoying the conversation. The geniality and 
cheeriness of his stage characters were but a reflec- 
tion of his own sunny disposition. If he had stood 
in the shoes of Rip Van Winkle, Caleb Plummer, or 
Bob Acres, he would have taken life as cheerfully as 
they did. After seeing him in private life I under- 
stood better the spirit of his acting. The Jefferson 
of the parlor was the Jefferson of the stage, save that 

247 



MEMORIES GRAVE AMD GAY 

the man himself was more brilliant, more original 
than the men of a simple type whom he habitually 
portrayed. He possessed that highest form of art 
which conceals itself. At the Booth luncheon he 
talked of many things^ — of art, his pictures, the 
proper light for the stage, his children, his farm in 
Florida, his delight in roaming through the woods 
with his fishing-rod. 

We enjoyed hearing many theatrical anecdotes 
which gave us peeps behind the scenes. Mr. Jefferson 
told us of a mistake he once made in "Lend Me Five 
Shillings." Forgetting that he had already delivered 
certain lines, he repeated them — no applause fol- 
lowed! Just as he was wondering what the matter 
was, the actress with whom he was playing whispered, 
**You have repeated your lines." William Warren 
confessed that he had had a somewhat similar ex- 
perience in "Our American Cousin," when he struck a 
match by the right end, lighting it, to his horror and 
surprise. According to the play, he should have 
struck the wrong end — and the mistake drove his part 
out of his head for a moment, when a fellow-actor 
gave him his lines, in a stage whisper! William 
Warren, "the Boston favorite," was a relative of 
Joseph Jefferson or of Mrs. Jefferson. They called 
him "Uncle William," and all treated him with the 
most affectionate respect. He was the eldest of the 
three actors, and already in failing health. Hence he 
was grave and quiet in manner when we saw him in 
private life, although inimitably funny on the stage. 
It seldom happens that so excellent an actor is content 
to remain all his life a member of a stock company, 

248 



V TAKE MY PEN IN HAND'' 

performing in a single city — but this was Warren's 
choice. The strong affection in which he was held was 
doubtless a compensation to this inimitable actor for 
the loss of a wider fame. He died not long after this 
time. 

We found our hospitable and kindly host, Edwin 
Booth, little changed from the old days when we had 
so devoutly admired him. There were the same charm 
and simplicity of manner, the same sense of humor. 
His eyes still had the old fire, while the cheerful se- 
renity of middle life replaced the buoyant happiness 
of his younger days. He spoke very simply of the 
time when he was a young man. I did not like to 
think that Edwin Booth ever could grow old. He 
was still in the prime of life, handsome and vigorous. 

Of his profession, of the stage and of Shakespeare, 
he liked to talk, and we liked only too well to listen. 
He had recently brought home from Germany some 
of the tokens of intense admiration that were show- 
ered upon him there — wreaths of silver, and perhaps 
of gold, also. 

What to do with these he did not know. Mantel 
lambrequins then afflicted the world. I fear it was I 
who suggested that the classic garlands might be 
sewn on these with decorative effect! 

Edwin Booth was too reserved and too kind- 
hearted to play the habitual mimic, yet he could, upon 
occasion, imitate to the life the person described. 
Once, when telling us of an experience in the far West 
while he was traveling with his father, he suddenly 
became a knock-kneed, shambling man. In a moment 
he was again Edwin Booth, grave and dignified. 

249 



XVIII 

OUR CHILDREN AT HOME, SCHOOL AND COLLEGE 

An Attic Fairy. — Our Child Artist Grinds Her Own Paints. — 
Scholarships and Athletics at Harvard University. — Our 
Youngest Wins an "H." — American Girls' Club in Paris. — 
Caroline's Pictures Exhibited in the New Salon. 

OUR children received their early education at 
home and at the house of our good friend, Mrs. 
Sykes. When the boys were well started in their les- 
sons we sent them to the neighboring public school. 
Here their proficiency in reading was resented by their 
contemporaries. An aristocracy of learning is quite as 
offensive "to boy nature as any other form of superior- 
ity. The school was coeducational, but in spite of 
this some of the boys were pretty rough. It was a 
good thing for our sons, however, to learn young 
to take their own part and to rub elbows with all 
sorts and conditions of children. The public-school 
system of America is an indispensable feature of our 
democracy. 

All our sons were prepared for college at Mr. 
Leal's excellent private school in Plainfield. A 
schoolmate declared that when Mr. Leal called Sam. 
up to recite he would open the Greek book, lay it 
affectionately upon the boy's knee, pat it, and tell the 
latter to begin. Thereupon Sam proceeded to reel 

250 



OUR CHILDREN AT HOME AND SCHOOL 

off page after page of the text, as if he had been a 
species of classic hand-organ. He was now too big, 
however, to have his head punched for his proficiency. 
I was glad to help my children with their home 
studies, thus reviving my acquaintance with Messrs. 
Virgil, Caesar and Company. But assisting them with 
their arithmetic and algebra was very hard work. 
To present a mathematical idea so that a child will 
clearly understand it is not easy. Perhaps that is 
the reason why teachers so often leave this task to the 
luckless parents. This is all wrong. 

My second son, Harry, was a natural leader and 
had his little coterie of friends and followers. When 
these were promoted to a higher room in the public 
school it was proposed to promote their teacher, also ; 
she declined the honor ! 

The boy had a natural wit which he occasionally 
used to torment his instructors at Mr. Leal's school. 
Harry had various clashes with the younger teachers, 
who were all men. They did not make sufficient al- 
lowance for the high spirits and the desire for inde- 
pendence of the growing boy. "Poppy Leal," the 
principal, as the boysi affectionately called him, was 
wiser. He spoke of them all as men, thus winning 
their hearts. But one day even Mr. Leal grew out 
of patience with Harry. Sending for the boy's pa- 
rents, he told us that there seemed to be a difference 
of opinion between Harry and himself as to who 
should run the school. He, however, had always 
done so in the past and did not propose to abdicate 
now. History repeats itself, and this same Harry 
was called upon, not long ago, to curb the same spirit 

251 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

in his eldest daughter, Httle JuHa Ward Howe Hall. 
The teacher unknowingly used the same words that 
had been applied to Harry in his youth! 

He was a daring boy, yet possessed of a certain 
caution. We had bought for his elder brother one of 
those immense bicycles which enjoyed a brief day of 
popularity. It proved too big for the older boy, but 
Master Harry managed to ride it, though his legs 
were so short that he could only reach the pedals 
as they came up. On this he descended such a dan- 
gerous incline that the boys kindly gathered at the 
foot of the hill to see him fall off. "Come see Hally 
riding to hell !" one boy called to the others. 

Our only daughter studied at home and at private 
schools, going to Paris for her education in painting. 

She was less than five years old, when she made 
her own brushes by taking stiff chicken feathers and 
shaving them off till only a small tuft was left at the 
end. From pieces of brick and other materials 
found about the place, she ground her own colors. 
When we found the child making pictures with these 
primitive paints, we at once supplied her with colors. 
In addition to the power of invention, perhaps be- 
cause of it, Caroline possessed the happy faculty of 
making the most of small things, enjoying whatever 
little pleasures fell to her lot. Thus, wishing very 
much to have a room entirely to herself, she asked 
for one in the attic. When a mouse visited her bower 
in the evening, instead of screaming she played softly 
on the harmonica, in the hope that the music would 
lead him to return to his home. We called her the 

Attic Fairy. 

252 



OUR CHILDREN AT HOME AND SCHOOL 

In 1889, our eldest son, Samuel Prescott Hall, en- 
tered Harvard University, having passed his exami- 
nations with honors. I went up to Cambridge with 
the trembling Freshman, who had just passed his 
seventeenth birthday. A certain indifference, not to 
say coldness, on the part of the authorities soon 
showed me that the event of Sam's entrance into aca- 
demic fields did not move them so deeply as it did me. 
The bursar I found especially unsympathetic. My 
son had not drawn a room in the college buildings, and 

that was an end of it. Mr. had no suggestions to 

offer. I was assured later that this gentleman was a 
very kind man. He certainly concealed the fact very 
successfully. I had dealings with him from time to 
time during the period of fourteen years while my 
sons were at Cambridge. But I do not remember his 
ever displaying one sign of human weakness. 

My brother had suggested our trying to procure 
for Sam the position of president's Freshman. The 
duties of this functionary consisted in running 
errands for the head of the university, for which he 
was paid a small honorarium. When I inquired about 
the president's Freshman, I was met by a pitying 
smile. The young man in charge had evidently never 
heard of such a person. 

When we looked about for rooms, dreadful tales of 
young collegians who had been found dead from 
opium-smoking greeted our affrighted ears. Fortu- 
nately, we found a pleasant lodgment at the house of 
an old acquaintance. 

This attitude of serene indifference toward the 
class of young men most in need of advice and help 

17 253 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

has now passed away. The erection of a stately row 
of buildings, intended especially for the accommoda- 
tion of Freshmen, shows that Alma Mater has waked 
up to a fact which was clear long ago to the ordi- 
nary mothers of men. The entering class, the new 
blood, is the hope of the future. As they are the 
youngest students and are totally inexperienced in the 
ways of the university, many of them coming from 
remote parts of the country, they should be made wel- 
come. 

Our sons thoroughly enjoyed their college life. 
They were much interested in athletics and also liked 
to have a good time. It was fully borne in upon 
them, however, that study must be the principal aim 
of their college course. We could not afford to send 
them to Harvard simply for amusement. Sam, being 
a student by nature, was always on the rank list, tak- 
ing special second-year honors, also graduating "cum 
laude" with honors in Greek and Latin. In Charles 
Eliot Norton's famous class, "Fine Arts Four," he 
was greatly interested. It was said that the very 
large membership of Professor Norton's classes was 
due to their being "snap" courses. Some of the boys, 
having reported themselves present, would depart by 
the fire-escape; others would read newspapers, to the 
vexation of Professor Norton. 

No. 241 Beacon Street was a second home to my 
mother's five grandsons, all of whom graduated from 
Harvard. Of Sam she was especially fond. His 
tastes, like hers, were those of a scholar, and there 
was a close bond of intellectual sympathy between 
her and her eldest grandson. 

254 



OUR CHILDREN AT HOME AND SCHOOL 

Football gave him so much pleasure that he con- 
tinued to play with amateur associations after leaving 
college. Those were the days of the deadly flying 
tackle. One morning a short, powerful-looking 
young man called at our house for Sam's football 
clothes. This same young man had accidentally killed 
another in a recent game. My feelings, on thus 
learning that my son was to play with him, can be 
imagined. Sam passed through these dreadful com- 
bats without lasting injury. He did, to be sure, bruise 
one of his legs so that it was black and blue from 
hip to ankle and the doctor looked serious. Fortu- 
nately youth and health pulled him through so that 
no amputation was necessary. 

Harry took his athletics less violently. Through' 
persistent exercise he became one of the strongest 
ten men in college. His mother felt much anxiety 
lest he should thus become muscle-bound, but my fears 
would appear to have been groundless. Tennis proved 
to be his forte, as various trophies testify. 

In 1893 we moved into our new house in Plainfield. 
As often happens, however, our children began to 
leave home soon after we had established ourselves 
permanently, as we hoped. Caroline was suddenly 
invited to go to Paris with Mrs. George Richmond 
Fearing, there to study painting and French. 

Mrs. Fearing took great pleasure in giving young 
girls the advantages of study in the French capital. 
She employed actresses from the Theatre Franqais 
and the Odeon — the government theaters — to give 
lessons in diction. Caroline's decidedly American 
accent changed; in the seven years of her foreign resi- 

255 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

dence, into something closely resembling the French 
of the natives. 

"Baby Hall," as she was affectionately called, was 
the youngest girl at the Delecluse studio. Thaulow, 
the great Norwegian artist, criticized the work of the 
art students in the Bois de Boulogne. He was a 
very large man and wore a bottle-green coat. He 
viewed with alarm the idea of seating himself on one 
of the tiny folding camp-chairs of their kit, so they 
procured one warranted to support many kilos. 

In due course of time Caroline's pictures were ex- 
hibited and "hung on the line" at the new Salon in 
Paris. She was also invited to exhibit her landscapes 
in the French provinces, receiving letters beginning 
"Clier mmtre" 

For some years she lived at the American Girls' 
Club, No. 4 rue de Chevreuse, a pleasant establish- 
ment where the charges were very moderate, Mrs. 
Whitelaw Reid contributing to its support. 

When our youngest son, John Howe Hall, went 
to Harvard, it was necessary for him to assist mate- 
rially in his own support. As he was the least robust 
of the three brothers, this was not so easy. He pos- 
sessed, how^ever, grit, executive ability, and a capacity 
for hard work. He won several scholarships, and 
also tutored in the courses he had himself thoroughly 
mastered. 

To "coach" for examinations boys who have neg- 
lected their studies involves severe and exhausting 
mental labor for teacher and pupil alike. Jack did 
the best he could for his pupils, w^ho usually passed. 
Although of slighter build than any of the other four 

256 



OUR CHILDREN AT HOME AND SCHOOL 

grandsons, he determined to achieve the coveted "H." 
He accordingly entered the track team and became a 
long-distance runner. The flutterings of the mother 
heart were now great. I was glad to have the boy 
distinguish himself, but two miles seemed a long dis- 
tance for one so slender to run. The perusal of a 
story by Wilkie Collins, representing the hero, a col- 
lege runner, as a very brutal man, did not reassure 
me. At first the boy was indignant at his parent's 
timidity and, as he thought, lack of sympathy. After 
I had attended, in company with his brothers, several 
races, where we showed great enthusiasm and cheered 
loudly, he understood my feelings better. 

It was indeed a proud moment at Franklin Field, 
Philadelphia, when Sam called out to me, "Here 
comes your youngest, at the head of the bunch." He 
was so handsome and so graceful, in that wonderful 
stride of the trained runner, that mother was made 
very happy. He gained, not long afterward, the 
coveted "H" — the only one of the grandsons who 
did so. 



XIX 

THE CLUB AND SUFFRAGE MOVEMENTS 

Enthusiasm of the Pioneer Clubwomen. — Early Conventions of 
the General Federation of Women's Clubs. — Work as Presi- 
dent of the New Jersey Woman Suffrage Association. — We 
Visit the Legislature. — Campaign for School Suffrage. — 
Formation of New Leagues. — Lucy Stone and Her Baby's 
Cradle. — Rev. Samuel Smith, Author of "America." 

THE rapidity with which, in the latter part of the 
nineteenth century, women's clubs sprang up all 
over the face of this broad land of ours was miracu- 
lous. We may say that this agency and that person 
helped in the development of the great movement, but 
there must have been a cause underlying it. The 
women of America had outgrown the old, narrow, 
often selfish life of utter absorption in the affairs 
of the individual home. They now longed for wider 
culture, for the broadening of their ideas by associa- 
tion with other women, for opportunities to improve 
not only their own, but all homes. For the club 
movement is only a part of the great, splendid world 
movement whereby the women of the race have ad- 
vanced to take their place beside the men. In the be- 
ginning intellectual culture was the principal object of 
the clubs. Yet we felt deep interest in the conduct 
of meetings and in the administration of affairs. 
Why were the women so delighted with parliamen- 

258 



THE CLUB AND SUFFRAGE MOVEMENTS 

tary law ? Because, all unconsciously, we were attend- 
ing a school of citizenship and learning that order 
which is a part of the divine law. 

The tremendous vitality of the club movement was 
shown by the almost magical growth of the General 
Federation of Women's Clubs. To Sorosis, and espe- 
cially to Mrs. J. C. Croly (Jennie June), belongs the 
honor of founding this splendid and powerful organi- 
zation. Sorosis has shown a wonderful power of 
vision, for it founded also the "Association for the 
Advancement of Women," a pioneer body which did 
very important work. 

Yet the administration of both organizations soon 
passed into other hands. This was, as I think, be- 
cause Sorosis had not cultivated the executive powers 
of its members. Hence when it came to questions of 
administration, other more active clubs assumed the 
leadership for which they had been trained. Thus 
the New England Woman's Club, full of good works 
and activity in civic movements, furnished the presi- 
dent, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, who for many years 
guided the movements of "A. A. W.*' 

We must note a feature in the constitution of this 
national union of clubs which, helpful in the begin- 
ning, later proved a serious defect. The individual 
societies were directly affiliated with the General Fed- 
eration, every club president being also a vice-presi- 
dent of the national body. Under the devoted leader- 
ship of Mrs. Charlotte Emerson Brown of East 
Orange, whose soul was fairly absorbed in her work, 
this grew and prospered. 

The "fault" in the method of formation became 
259 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

more and more evident as time went on. The number 
of clubs increased to such an extent as to make the 
national conventions unwieldy. It has been proposed 
at various times to limit the representation to the state 
federations, but the individual clubs, who have greatly- 
enjoyed their membership in the national body, are 
very unwilling to give it up. 

Will the initial fault in construction end by de- 
stroying this splendid body? No one can now say. 
Even should it perish, however, it will have fulfilled 
an important mission. We should look at the Gen- 
eral Federation as a part of the great movement by 
which our sex has been prepared for the new duties 
which women are now so splendidly fulfilling. 
Viewed in this light, the stimulus which it gave to the 
formation of new clubs and the opportunities it af- 
forded to the women of all parts of our country for 
meeting together have more than compensated for the 
defect in organization. Had we waited to form first 
state federations, and out of those a national body, 
we should have lost the glow and enthusiasm of those 
wonderful early conventions of the G. F. W. C. We 
might have failed, also, in fulfilling the larger mis- 
sion. 

The conservative women often opposed us, but we 
of the liberal party prevailed in the end. Gradually 
club and Federation broadened their programs. At 
the first biennial convention of the General Federa- 
tion, held in Chicago, we devoted our attention prin- 
cipally to questions relating to clubs and their man- 
agement. Should they be large or small ? Should we 
h^ve club-houses ? Should we engage in philanthropic 

?6q 



THE CLUB AND SUFFRAGE MOVEMENTS 

work? It seems strange now to remember the great 
enthusiasm with which we labored over these minor 
matters. But they were doubtless necessary steps in 
our progress. 

The General Federation now has departments of 
art, civics, legislation, public health, and many others. 
Last and best of all, at the convention of 19 14, the 
General Federation endorsed suffrage for women. It 
was a moment of great excitement and enthusiasm. 
Veteran suffrage leaders wept with joy and embraced 
one another, while the strains of the "Battle Hymn 
of the Republic" sounded through the hall. 

Sister Julia, with her strong intellectual tastes, 
early felt the attraction of the movement and joined 
the New England Woman's Club. There were many 
clever and delightful women in its membership. She 
read papers before many of the clubs then springing 
up all about Boston, and enjoyed doing so. Thus she 
followed in the footsteps of our mother, who re- 
joiced in club life and had the true club spirit. 

The two youngest sisters, Laura and Maud, have 
never possessed this in full measure. They have been 
much in demand as speakers before societies of 
women, and have belonged to these when occasion 
arose. Both are fond of society as well as full of 
public spirit. Mrs. Richards has done much reform 
and charitable work in her adopted state of Maine. 
Mrs. Elliott has not been behind her sister. In the 
Progressive movement she was one of the leaders, 
and on the Hughes "golden special" train she was one 
of the "Big Four" speakers. In the suffrage move- 
ment in Rhode Island she has done important service, 

?6i 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Last but not least she is the founder and moving spirit 
of the Newport Art Association. 

The fact remains that to neither of them have club 
work and club association been the real joy that they 
wxre to our mother and to me. When the young birds 
began to leave the nest, the sons to go to college and 
the daughter to study art in Paris, I had more leisure 
to attend to outside matters. Thus, when the Monday 
Afternoon Club of Plainfield was formed, in the late 
'eighties, I was one of the charter members, succeed- 
ing the founder. Miss Elvira Kenyon, as president. 
The General Federation of Women's Clubs was 
formed at about this time, and I was appointed chair- 
man of correspondence for New Jersey. This officer 
was a species of shepherd for the clubs of the state, a 
part of whose duty and pleasure it was to \nsit the 
various societies. 

We chairmen of correspondence strove to hand on 
to others the inspiration received at the Federation 
and club meetings. For in those bright days there 
w^as much exchanging of visits and many club fes- 
tivities. 

During my presidency, the Monday Afternoon 
Club of Plainfield gave its first luncheon, with the 
indispensable program of speeches. The amount of 
work we — the members of the executive board — put 
into the preparation, seems now almost incredible. 
We had plenty of zeal, but no experience. Hence 
every detail of the arrangements was considered at 
great length. The cost of the luncheon was a burning 
question. We compromised on a dollar, if I remem- 
ber aright. Nowadays, a competent house committee 

?63 



THE CLUB AND SUFFRAGE MOVEMENTS 

would handle the whole matter quietly and easily. 
But we were like children with a new toy ! 

As the shepherd of New Jersey, I proposed inviting 
the not-yet federated clubs to our gala-day, in order 
that they might see for themselves the advantages of 
union. The scheme was so successful that one lady 
declared she had never known such a happy day be- 
fore, not even her wedding-day! How we did enjoy 
it all ! I see it now through a rosy mist. How de- 
lighted we were with the wit of the speakers! One 
of the lessons that we learn from club life is that 
women possess a keen sense of humor. The luncheon 
was brightened by toasts. Rev. Antoinette Brown 
Blackwell, Mrs. Mary Mumford, of Philadelphia, 
witty and delightful, and my mother were among the 
speakers. 

On another gala-day, the national president, Mrs. 
Charlotte Emerson Brown, visited us. 

In opening her speech she praised the beauty of 
our decorations and found the English language in- 
adequate for the expression of her feelings. She 
passed from "how beautiful" to ''wunderschon'' and, 
"magnifique/' ending impressively with "to Kalon." 
We all smiled, but only a little, because Mrs. Brown 
was very amiable and had devoted much time to the 
study of languages. 

At a club festivity in Boston, Rev. Samuel Smith 
— "Sammy Smith/' as he was familiarly called, told 
us of the circumstances under which he wrote 
"America." They were not thrilling. He was in his 
library, looking out upon the hills, if I remember 
aright. He seemed a kindly old gentleman, still vig- 

263 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

orous, despite his silver hair. My mother also de- 
scribed the train of events which led to the writing 
of the ''Battle Hymn of the Republic." She was 
often called upon to do this. 

I had the pleasure of serving on the nominating 
committee at several biennial conventions — but none 
of the later ones resembled the lively session held at 
Chicago in 1892. Miss Octavia Bates kindly con- 
sented to act as our chairman, her good humor and 
good sense helping to straighten out the knotty prob- 
lems that came before us. If the discussion became 
too animated she thumped on the floor with an 
umbrella ! 

One of the interesting women at these early con- 
ventions was Dr. Jennie de la M. Lozier, a physician 
herself and the wife of one. At Chicago in a moment 
of irritation she took the reporters to task, alluding 
to them as "the ink-sHngers of the Press." Fortu- 
nately, Mrs. Sarah Perkins, of Cleveland, Ohio, came 
to the defense of the newspaper men, telling the con- 
vention how much a good cause often owed to them. 
At its close the reporters presented Mrs. Perkins with 
a beautiful basket of roses ! 

We learned some lessons in public speaking from 
Miss Susan B. Anthony, the noted suffrage leader. 
In her own vigorous way she told us not to immerset 
our heads in our papers, but to hold them up, to look 
at the man in the last row of the parquette and 
address our remarks to him ! 

At the second biennial, held in Philadelphia, I had 
the pleasure of taking part in the program of the 
evening meeting at the Academy of Music. I had 

264 



THE CLUB AND SUFFRAGE MOVEMENTS 

received, shortly before, an absurd publication, treat- 
ing in solemn vein of the management of husbands. 
This moved me to write, in serio-comic style, a short 
paper on ''The Duties of Women's Clubs toward' 
Mankind." 

The club husband furnished food for humor in 
those early days, although many men attended our 
evening sessions. 

It was interesting to me to see how the audience 
took the points — sometimes after a moment's delay 
— and to note how waves of mirth one after another 
passed over the great throng. 

Kate Upson Clarke, always witty and delightful, 
spoke of ''Democracy in Women's Clubs." 

In November, 1895, the General Federation Coun- 
cil met at Atlanta, Georgia, where the "Cotton States 
and International Exposition" was then in session. 
We did not quite relish being asked whether we were 
"Daughters of the Confederacy," although the mis- 
take was a natural one. It was gratifying to see the 
progress made by the Southern women. 

From Atlanta we went on to New Orleans, where 
a meeting of the Association for the Advancement of 
Women was scheduled. 

Here we were delightfully entertained by Mrs. 
King and her daughters, one of them being Grace 
King, the novelist. My mother was no stranger to 
New Orleans, having spent the winter of 1884-85 
there, when she had charge of the woman's section of 
the exposition. 

Many friends welcomed her on her return to the 
quaint old city. I had never seen it before, and was 

265 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

much interested in exploring as much of it^ as our 
short visit and the necessary attendance at the sessions 
of A. A. W. permitted. We made a visit to the 
UrsuHne Convent on the occasion of the coronation 
of the image of the Virgin with a crown of gold 
studded with jewels, contributed by the women of 
the city. When the crowning took place all ap- 
plauded. The singing of the Mass was very beauti- 
ful. In the address of the day we were told that the 
image had been brought over by the Ursuline nuns 
from France. It was held to be of miraculous power. 
The sisters prayed to it at the time of the battle of 
New Orleans; to their prayers, as we were told, was 
due the victory of General Jackson and the troops 
under his command. 

It is said that if you taste the water of the Mis- 
sissippi you will want to return to the Crescent City. 
No one is rash enough to do that until the mud has 
been allowed to settle — perhaps in one of the beau- 
tiful great earthen jars resembling those in which the 
Forty Thieves took refuge. 

Clubwomen, as a rule, are very sensible. They all 
wish to be nicely and suitably dressed, but a parade 
of fine gowns is thought undesirable. It was amusing 
as well as sad to see aspirants for office appear at a 
convention in a succession of expensive dresses, which 
insured the failure of their hopes. These dear ladies 
could not understand why Jenny Wren in her simple 
gray gown was preferred before them ! 

At the Milwaukee biennial we had the great 
pleasure of listening to a speech from Octave Thanet. 
She banished all possible stiffness by confessing to the 

266 



THE CLUB AND SUFFRAGE MOVEMENTS 

audience, ''When I forget what I want to say, I stop 
and take a drink of water." After that, whenever she 
raised the tumbler to her Hps we all laughed. 

During this biennial word came to Mrs. Philip N. 
Moore, treasurer of the Federation, that her house in 
St. Louis was on fire. She felt it her duty to remain 
at her post until, as retiring treasurer, she had signed 
all the checks. Some one quoted apropos of this : 

"Ladybird, fly away home. 
Your house is on fire, 
Your children will burn." 

Mrs. Moore has since served as president of the 
General Federation and held other important public 
positions. She is one of the ablest and most public- 
spirited women of our country, a college graduate, 
and last but not least, decidedly handsome. 

The trips to the West on the "Federation Specials" 
were delightful. No men save those in charge of the 
train — with one or two club husbands — were allowed 
on them. We flitted from one car to another, talking 
with old friends. A good deal of preliminary busi- 
ness was arranged on these jaunts. But, oh, the 
sufferings of the conductor! 

Mrs. H , having found a long-lost friend in 

car ''Zenobia," desired to have her berth changed. 
How many women made these thoughtless requests 
it would be/ impossible to say. I only know that I 
have seen the conductor, sitting in his little end seat, 
balancing his accounts, with an expression of utter 
desperation on his face! 

One great club enthusiast was so anxious to take 
267 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

the trip on the "Federation Special" that she started 
without waiting for her baggage. She took a heavy 
cold, which was probably the cause of her death later 
in the summer. Our women have now learned to be 
more prudent and to husband their strength better. 

As chairman of correspondence for New Jersey, 
the desirability of a closer organization in the state 
became evident to me. Mrs. Charlotte Emerson 
Brown and Mrs. Sarah Johnson, president of the 
Orange Woman's Club, were of the same mind, and 
we issued a call for the formation of a state federa- 
tion, thus becoming its founders. 

It was my pleasant duty to assist in the direction 
of the state federation during the first eight years of 
its existence. Our beginnings were too sentimental 
for my taste. The discussions about a Federation 
flower seemed to me distinctly superfluous. We went 
on, however, from strength to strength, developing 
after much the same fashion as the G. F. W. C. 

Our third president, Mrs. Emily E. Williamson, 
of Elizabeth, was one of the ablest women I 
have ever met. It was a pleasure to work with her, 
unless you happened to disagree with her in opinion. 
She made up her mind as to the best course, and could 
brook no opposition. In spite of this defect, which 
led to her making some mistakes, the State of New 
Jersey owes her gratitude for her public services on 
the Board of State Charities and elsewhere. 

Among the things accomplished by the New Jersey 
Federation of Clubs in those early years was the in- 
auguration of a system of state traveling libraries and 
the preservation of the Palisades. The former we 

268 



THE CLUB AND SUFFRAGE MOVEMENTS 

owe especially to the indefatigable efforts of Mrs. 
Edward Houghton, of Cranford, the most devoted 
and unselfish of workers. The rescue of the Pali- 
sades from the greed and selfishness of the men who 
were digging them down was no easy task. The New 
York State women joined us, and after great efforts 
these beautiful natural monuments were saved from 
the maw of the stone-crusher. 

New Jersey was the first state in the Union to con- 
fer the franchise upon women, who exercised it for 
more than thirty years. 

When the modern agitation for suffrage began, 
the women of the state remembered their ancient 
rights, of which they had been illegally deprived. I 
well remember Lucy Stone, the noted suffrage leader, 
whose baby's cradle was attached because she refused 
to pay taxes. She was a comely woman, with a 
motherly face and soft, sweet voice, but possessed 
of iron determination! It might have paid the anti- 
suffragists to redeem and restore that cradle, for the 
baby grew up to be Alice Stone Blackwell. She has 
carried on, with unfaltering and single-hearted de- 
votion, the work so nobly begun by her parents, Lucy 
Stone and Henry Blackwell. 

When they removed to Massachusetts the move- 
ment flagged for a time. Through the efforts of 
Dr. Mary D. Hussey, a most devoted and unselfish 
suffrage worker, a state association was formed in 
1890. 

In 1893 I was elected to the office of president, 
bringing to it the experience already acquired in the 
club and Federation movement. The New Jersey 
18 269 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Woman Suffrage Association now began the active 
career which has continued for a quarter of a cen- 
tury with ever-increasing momentum. When we, the 
pioneers, look at its wonderful growth, we are glad 
to think that ours was the privilege of doing the 
foundation work. Of this the inauguration of branch 
leagues was an important part. These we established 
in Essex County, Union County, Camden, Trenton, 
Asbury Park, Moorestown. In 1894 the law which 
permitted women to vote at school meetings was de- 
clared unconstitutional. The New Jersey state con- 
stitution of 1844 (adopted without consulting the 
women whom it disfranchised) limited the right of 
voting for officers elective by the people to male citi- 
zens. 

School trustees are officers elective by the people, 
therefore women clearly could not vote for them. 
But this same constitution cheerfully forgot to forbid 
women to hold office or to vote for the issuance of 
bonds, etc. 

Women were already serving acceptably as school 
trustees in difi^erent parts of the state. There seemed 
to be no reason why they should not continue to do 
so. They had also been voting during seven years 
for these officers and always for the benefit of the 
schools, according to the almost universal testimony 
of the educational authorities. A number of school- 
houses in New Jersey owe their existence to the votes 
of women combined with those of progressive men. 

The feminine voters were discouraged by the ad- 
verse decision of the Supreme Court. It was a part 
of our task to point out to them the rights still re- 

270 



THE CLUB AND SUFFRAGE MOVEMENTS 

maining and to encourage them to use these, for the 
benefit of the children. 

Finding that the constitution of the state was to be 
amended, we decided to ask the Legislature to pass 
an amendment restoring to us the rights of school 
suffrage that we had lost. We hoped to have these 
extended to towns and cities, but were assured that 
it would be impossible to procure any extension of the 
school suffrage. 

"Asking the Legislature" is a task requiring time 
and patience. I now understood for the first time 
the practical meaning of the word ''lobbyist" and the 
practical necessity of his work. We had no private 
ax to grind — we went to Trenton for the sake of the 
cause of education as well as for that of suffrage. 
Yet our only chance to state our case was as the legis- 
lators passed "on the wing." We found them cour- 
teous, but always in a hurry. They gave us good 
advice: "Agitate the matter in the papers. Get the 
people behind you." We could not expect them to 
pass an amendment to the constitution unless the peo- 
ple wanted it. It was a part of our duty to educate 
the public. We also had hearings before legislative 
committees. 

It did not seem as if our small and eminently rea- 
sonable request could be refused. So we persever- 
ingly went to Trenton and finally succeeded in having 
our amendment passed. My husband drew it up for 
us and helped us in every possible way. 

On the last day of the session we had a narrow 
escape from defeat. Receiving word that the Legis- 
lature was about to adjourn, I hurried to Trenton, 

271 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

where the lawmakers were already in that state of 
boyish nonsense which marks the last day. In the 
gallery I found one of our stanchest suffragists, scan- 
dalized by the playful exchange of books and cour- 
tesies going on below, and lurking, concealed, in a cor- 
ner. Where was our bill? No one knew. I hastily 
hunted up the clerk and informed him that the docu- 
ment must be found without delay. To have the 
amendment, which had cost us three years of labor, 
mislaid at the last moment was unthinkable. Whether 
•it had been pigeonholed by accident or on purpose 
we never knew, but presently he returned with it, 
duly draped with red tape. Having seen it started on 
its proper course, my friend and I returned to the 
gallery, where we took our seats in full view of the 
gentlemen below. The athletic interchange of dic- 
tionaries by a parcel of boys young enough to be my 
sons had no terrors for me, as my countenance plainly 
indicated. Our amendment was passed before the 
adjournment and our wrath was turned to rejoicing! 
We shook hands with the representatives and thanked 
them as they came out. They looked rather sheepish 
— perhaps on account of the dictionary incident. 

We now began active work to influence the voters. 
Meetings were held in all parts of the state and many 
articles were published, explaining the scope of the 
amendment. 

Our most valuable support came from the educa- 
tional authorities, since theirs was expert opinion. 
We published letters from Hon. Charles J. Baxter, 
State Superintendent of Education and others, setting 
forth the good effect which the votes of women had 

272 



THE CLUB AND SUFFRAGE MOVEMENTS 

already had upon the school system. The Republi- 
can State Executive Committee and many organiza- 
tions endorsed the amendment. It was defeated by 
an adverse majority of ten thousand votes, sixty-five 
thousand persons voting for it. The opposition came 
almost entirely from the cities, where school suffrage 
had never existed, and especially from the Germans. 

Our labor was not wasted, however, for the cam- 
paign widely advertised the fact that women still 
possessed the right to serve as school trustees and also 
to vote for appropriations and the issuance of bonds. 
We still held, in rural districts, the power of the 
purse-strings. It was a part of my policy to keep this 
fact always before the people of the state. Every 
spring, shortly before the time of the annual school 
meetings, I prepared a circular which was printed and 
sent to the three hundred newspapers of New Jersey. 
We were too poor, as an association, to afford clerk 
hire, devoted suffragists freely giving their time and 
labor. 

The admission of women to the Bar of the state 
was secured at this time. Several of us spoke at a 
hearing of the judiciary committee of the Legislature, 
but the most telling speech was that of Mrs. Carrie 
Burnham Kilgore, a lawyer of Philadelphia. 

She informed her hearers that, through interstate 
courtesy, she had been permitted to try cases in New 
Jersey. ''Surely, gentlemen, you will not refuse to 
the women of your own state the privilege you have 
accorded to those from a neighboring common- 
wealth." This argument produced a great effect on 
the men learned in the law. Miss Mary Philbrook 

273 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

was very active and energetic in getting the law passed 
under which she was the first woman to become a 
lawyer in New Jersey. 

My husband gave her her first case — that of a 
neighbor whose husband had by his will tried to cut 
off her right of dower. Miss Philbrook won it. 

The comments of the "antis," or "remonstrants," 
as we then called them, appealed strongly to one's 
sense of humor. 

I wrote a farce, "The Judgment of Minerva," on 
this theme, and read it before the National Woman 
Suffrage Convention in Washington and elsewhere. 
It elicited much laughter. Later it was acted by the 
College Equal Suffrage League at one of the Boston 
theaters and by several other suffrage societies. 

After serving as president of the New Jersey 
Woman Suffrage Association for eight years, I re- 
tired. Mrs. Cornelia Hussey, a devoted suffragist, 
whose generous financial support had been indispen- 
sable to the state association, made me a life member 
of the National and through the vote of the state as- 
sociation I became its first honorary president. Such 
recognitions of one's work are always heartening 
because they testify to the approval of one's fellow- 
workers. The greatest reward is the consciousness 
that one has done something, be it ever so little, for 
the "grand old cause of human freedom." 

My husband had been a "Pooh Bah" in Scotch 
Plains, and I now deserved the title in Plainfield. 
Our little Unitarian church needed a president for its 
Women's Alliance, and during eleven years I held the 
office. This did not involve long-distance excursions, 

274 



THE CLUB AND SUFFRAGE MOVEMENTS 

however. In addition to working for the church, we 
prepared and read papers. It was a pleasure to meet 
with this intelligent body of women. In our Plain- 
field chapter of the D. A. R. I enjoyed serving as 
regent and vice-regent for some years. As president 
of the local league I continued my work for suffrage. 



XX 



JOYS AND SORROWS OF THE LECTURER 

The Treatment of "Talent." — Visits to New England and to 
the West. — My Mother's Seventieth Birthday. — The Pape- 
terie Club. — Elisabeth Stewart Phelps Ward. — Thomas Nel- 
son Page. 

T N the 'nineties the women's clubs w^re beginning 
-■- to offer a field for lecturers. After reading a pa- 
per before my own club in Plainfield I was embold- 
ened to enter this, and during twenty-five years made 
lecture trips to New England and the middle West, as 
well as to near-by points. "The Art of Conversa- 
tion," and "Personal Reminiscences of Distinguished 
People"" were among my most popular talks. 

Boston was my mother's home and also a great 
center of club activity. Hence I was glad to give 
many talks in New England, combining them with 
visits to her delightful home at 241 Beacon Street. 
On one of these trips I attended an authors' reading 
where the name of Elizabeth Stewart Phelps Ward 
was on the program. She duly took her part, but we 
learned afterward that she had told the chairman she 
might not feel like speaking. "When it is my turn, do 
not announce me unless I spring up and come for- 
ward." As Mrs. Ward was sitting behind the chair- 
man, the latter had some anxious moments before 
the author of "Gates Ajar" decided to "spring up." 

276 



JOYS AND SORROWS OF THE LECTURER 

If not the first to speak on the subject of manners, 
I was a pioneer in the field. A friend surprised me 
by saying that my talks at schools had become the 
fashion in New York. A look at my engagement- 
book showed that she was right. 

To talk to young girls is a great pleasure. We al- 
ways seemed to understand one another perfectly; I 
interspersed my subject with anecdotes and with bits 
of fun which they cordially appreciated. My aim 
was to set before them the essentials of good nature 
rather than the formalism of mere etiquette. 

A speaker on manners is confronted with many 
dif^culties. She must not speak of elementary de- 
tails as if her hearers were ignorant of them, yet 
she must enter somewhat into particulars. I thought 
it perfectly safe to speak of gum-chewing in public 
as an odious custom, permissible only to football play- 
ers. Alas ! One of my hearers always chewed gum 
while traveling, to avoid car-sickness! 

I often asked the principals whether there were 
any special points they wished mentioned. One lady 
requested me to speak of mimicry, as she had a pupil 
much given to it. I willingly did so, quoting from 
Miss Edgeworth's story of 'The Mimic." Unfortu- 
nately the girl for whom the admonition was espe- 
cially intended was not feeling well. Either the other 
girls recognized the culprit or the weight of her own 
guilt overwhelmed her, I have a dim vision of a 
youthful figure reclining in an anteroom. I was 
never asked to speak in that school again ! 

If I had realized all the pitfalls lurking in the path 
of the speaker on manners, I should have embarked 

^7 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

upon it with a less cheerful heart. But in all profes- 
sions we learn by doing. To be "the Missionary of 
good manners" has been a pleasure. The principals 
have been kind and appreciative hostesses, and I have 
been truly glad to visit a great number of schools 
which afforded attractive homes as well as excellent 
educational advantages to the bright-faced, happy 
young girls of our country. It has been a privilege to 
see so much of the flower of young American woman- 
hood. 

Ruth McEnery Stewart has described in her in- 
imitable way the treatment of the woman speaker in 
early days. Many of her experiences were also mine. 
She apparently preferred to stay with private families, 
and I certainly did. The cold isolation of a hotel 
in a small country town, the depressing furniture of 
the bedroom, the unappetizing menu and service of 
the dining-room, the chattering drummers in the dis- 
tance, these were not at all to my taste. 

As a guest in a private house one incurs additional 
fatigue, but this is more than compensated for by 
the pleasure of meeting and learning to know your 
fellow-men and women. Is there a little desire for 
incense in all this? It may be, but there is also a 
genuine liking for one's kind. To get a peep into the 
lives and thoughts of others can hardly fail to be in- 
teresting. Your material comforts are also much 
better attended to in the nest of the average club- 
woman than in the leading hotel of the small town. 
The former gives you the best she has; she does 
everything in her power to make you comfortable 
under her roof. The chief danger is that of killing 

a78 



JOYS AND SORROWS OF THE LECTURER 

you with kindness by putting you on exhibition 
through unduly long hours. 

To be considered as a being apart is flattering, even 
though fatiguing. That you are like other women, 
capable of physical weariness, does not always occur 
to your kind entertainers. To find that you are to be 
the chief guest at a large luncheon given in your 
honor, just preceding your address, is disturbing. At 
such moments I sympathize with Mrs. Deland's de- 
sire for the barbaric solitude of the hotel bedroom. 
Again, at the end of an hour, when you've done your 
best to entertain the audience, you would almost pre- 
fer not to shake hands with a couple of hundred per- 
sons. 

Still, it is a pleasure to meet your audience and to 
hear them say the lecture interested them. You look 
as animated as you can and try to vary the expression 
of your voice when you say for the hundredth time, 
'T'm glad you liked it." For you are genuinely glad 
— of that there is no doubt. 

I learned ultimately to ask for a time of absolute 
quiet before speaking. This is more difficult to pro- 
cure than the uninitiated suppose. It is a maxim with 
the average clubwoman that the "talent" must be on 
hand in very good season. Some clubs who are very 
secret about their affairs put you in a remote waiting- 
room which may or may not be warm. Others, re- 
membering that you also are a clubwoman and likely 
to sympathize in their doings, give you a comfortable 
chair on the platform. As I am thoroughly in sym- 
pathy with the club idea and spirit, I like to hear the 
reports, provided they are not too long. At one en- 

279 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

thusiastic club I sat during an hour or more while 
they thoroughly and conscientiously amended their 
constitution. 

For these reasons the lecturer sometimes weakly 
desires to delay her coming. She has a subconscious' 
feeling that the program proper cannot begin until 
she gets there, and that therefore she could take a 
later train. This proves to be impossible, because of 
the necessity of personally meeting and guiding the 
"talent" (who might have the wandering tendencies- 
characteristic of genius) to the right hall. The es- 
cort, being herself a member of the club, cannot, with- 
out sin, lose any crumb of the afternoon's perform- 
ance. 

To be obliged to await your turn, in a very cold 
hall, while another speaker gives an address with 
stereoscopic illustrations, is not enlivening to the spir- 
its. In spite of the assurance that the first talk will 
be very "brief, you have a dreadful foreknowledge 
that it will not be. You grow more and more de- 
pressed as he goes on and on, for you know full welt 
that your audience will be already wearying before 
you begin. Those who have no sense of the passage 
of time should not be expected to divide the program 
with others. Thomas Nelson Page, when reading his 
own stories, is as genial and delightful as they are. 
We went to hear him speak on the literature of the 
South with the pleasantest anticipations. Richard 
Watson Gilder and Sister Maud were also to make ad- 
dresses — or so we hoped. But as Mr. Page went on 
and on, these hopes faded away. In his amiable desire 
to do justice to all the writers of his section of the 

280 



JOYS AND SORROWS OF THE LECTURER 

country, he forgot the limitations of time and space. 
A gentleman in my vicinity became actually savage in 
his impatience and was with difficulty restrained from 
violence by his wife. Mr. Page must have spoken 
for two hours — or so it seemed, — the other speakers' 
time being reduced to a few minutes. When we met 
him next day and complimented him on his address, 
he naively replied, "I could have done better if I could 
have had more time !" 

Mr. Page is by no means the only person whom I 
have heard offend in this way. Hence the warning- 
bell of women's conventions is an excellent institution. 
The local talent must sometimes be reckoned with. I 
am very fond of music, but, in my opinion, it is a 
mistake to present a mixed program, consisting half 
of concert and half of lecture, to a club audience. 
Such an occasion is of a mongrel order. A single 
song may pleasantly preface the literary exercises, but 
this it is difficult to have. 

In the midst of a series of earnest talks on schools 
as social centers, or on votes for women, to have your 
train of thought suddenly interrupted by operatic 
quavers from the local soprano, with accompanying 
flower presentation, is disturbing. 

Marion Crawford was a delightful speaker. It 
once happened, when we were in Boston, that several 
of us were to speak on the same day. 

"Five of the family are going to make the plat- 
form creak to-night!" exclaimed Crawford. 

At a lecture course which I arranged in Plainfield 
he was the great attraction. The talk was given in 
a hall of pleasant size, not too large to permit a 

38l 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

certain intimacy between speaker and audience. 
Crawford was at his best. Feeling, as a lecturer so 
quickly does, the interest and sympathy of his hear- 
ers, he was as genial and delightful as if he had been 
talking to half a dozen of us in a parlor. Among 
those that surrounded him after the address was 
an enthusiastic lady who declared him to be the 
equal of Thackeray. The dear fellow deprecated 
this praise, yet he clearly liked it, as who would 
not? 

Another relative, who wanted him to speak at her 
house, for a reduced price, did not secure him. 

She wished, after the fashion of women, to give 
her guests a real treat — ice-cream and flowers as 
well as an address from Crawford — cutting down his 
fee to pay for the rest of the entertainment. I re- 
gret to say that her point of view is quite common 
among clubwomen. The secretary will naively ask 
you to- come for a low price because the ladies wish 
to give ice-cream to their guests. It does not seem 
to occur to them that in this case it is the lecturer who 
pays for the refreshments ! 

It is — or was, for we will hope the bad custom is 
dying away — common for clubs to exact, whenever 
they can, cut prices from their women speakers, on 
the plea of their small means — and then end up the 
year with some very expensive man whose fee is 
not subject to curtailment. 

After my mother reached the age of seventy her 
birthday was always celebrated by family and friends 
as a joyous occasion. The house was transformed 
into a veritable bower of flowers, the fitting expres- 

282 



JOYS AND SORROWS OF THE LECTURER 

sion of the beautiful affection by which she was sur- 
rounded. 

A lady from the West was invited, with her son, 
to one of these receptions. She endeavored to im- 
press upon him, beforehand, the importance of the 
occasion when "we shall see all the elite of Boston." 
The day was rainy, and in the confusion of many um- 
brellas, that of the Western couple was mislaid. 

*'Ah, mother, the elite got the better of us that 
time !" said her son. 

In 1893 we all greatly enjoyed the Chicago World's 
Fair, in spite of the fact that I had my pocket picked 
and that my oldest son had a very serious time with 
his eyes, which were half-blinded by the glare. My 
mother was so deeply interested in it, and especially 
in the parliaments connected with it, that she forgot 
about her lame knee. When she returned home this 
took its revenge, depressing her usually buoyant spir- 
its. 

Sister Maud, remembering our mother's perennial 
interest in women's clubs, invented the 'Tapeterie" 
as a restorative. 

Its object, as the name implies, was an exchange 
of paper-covered novels. The members took these 
home to read, giving a report at the following meet- 
ing. We occasionally had musical, artistic, and dra- 
matic programs. Our most serious undertaking was 
the writing of a novel, to which each member con- 
tributed a chapter. It was full of dash and adventure, 
but remains buried in the archives of the club. Our 
great modesty forbade the seeking of a publisher. 
We had a great deal of delightful fun and nonsense 

283 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

at our meetings. Our mother, with her wit and 
gaiety, was the moving spirit of the Httle club. She 
seldom missed a meeting, but when she did we were 
like salt that has lost its savor. The merriment which 
came so easily in her presence, faded and died away ! 

Some extracts from my minutes as recording sec- 
retary are given below, to show as far as may be the 
spirit of our meetings. Their object was to amuse the 
company rather than to preserve a strictly veracious 
record of our doings. 

We had no regular fees and dues in the Papeterie, 
save occasional fines of five cents for some offense, 
real or imaginary, and assessments for postage or for 
a new record-book. Hence jests about our treasurer 
were among our stock jokes. She was christened 
"butterfly," owing to her supposed fondness for so- 
ciety. 

The first meeting of the renowned Papeterie Club for the 
season of igio was held August 9th, at the house of our Presi- 
dent, who occupied the chair, as usual. She has wielded the 
gavel, OUR gavel, with her accustomed dexterity and grace, 
rebuking frivolous members with august raps on the table. 

The annual report of the Rec. Sec. was read. The Chair 
suggested in a voice of authority that the proper thing be done 
by this report, and all voted to do the proper thing. What this 
was no one mentioned. 

The Treasurer's report was a revelation in High Finance, 
as follows : 

Oct. 19th, 1908. There were five cents — these five cents to be 
known hereafter as the Lost Chord. 

In July, 1909, we began with this Lost Chord — which van- 
ished, leaving in its place $5.61 in October* of that year. 

There were no expenses except $1.20 for postal cards. Ap- 
parently there were no receipts, but somehow the $5.61 has now 

284 



JOYS AND SORROWS OF THE LECTURER 

become $7.36. The third degree was here mercilessly applied 
to our Butterfly Treasurer, also to the minutes, with the result 
that it was found $2.75 had been received for special fines. 
The Papeterie therefore voted not to burn the treasurer at the 
stake as a witch. We should have been under this sad neces- 
sity had not this increase in our Treasure been satisfactorily 
accounted for. 

The election passed off with its accustomed serenity. The 
Club understands so well how to re-elect the old officers, we 
could really do this in our sleep. The old Board is unanimously 
murmured into the offices which they will never leave, no never, 
while life lasts. The only new feature of the election was that 
our Treasurer, Mrs. Lyman Josephs, nobly consented to act as 
Cor. Sec. pro tern, (in the absence of Mrs. Manson Smith), 
as well as our eternal and brilliant Treasurer. And yet she 
has been called a Butterfly. 

Florence H. Hall, 
Rec. Sec. 

In addition to the usual officers of a club, the 
Papeterie had a ''troubadour" (our musical member), 
an "archiviste" in charge of the archives, and a ''pen- 
ologist." Our penal code was in the custody of the 
latter. We had a great deal of fun over the code — 
but I do not remember the actual infliction of any 
punishment, except fines of five cents. 

The meeting of September 27, 1910, was the last 
but one held before my mother's death, in October. 
Mrs. William Hunter Birckhead, who succeeded me 
as recording secretary, gave us an interesting account 
of the "Passion Play" at Oberammergau, and my 
mother told us of Newport in the old days. It was 
so sadly deserted after the Revolution that only one 
lady possessed a diamond ring! 



19 



XXI 

DARBY AND JOAN ON THEIR TRAVELS 

A Cathedral Pilgrimage. — Visit to a French Country House. — 
Madame Blanc. — Cathedrals of Rheims, Chartres, Rouen^ 
Beauvais, Amiens. — English Hospitality. — Visit to Florence 
Nightingale. 

IN the summer of 1902 my husband was badly out 
of health. It was decided that we should try a 
trip to Europe in the hope that the complete change 
of thought and scene would be beneficial to him. I 
had been on the point of going abroad with the family 
in 1867, ^^^ again toward the end of the century, 
when it was planned that I should bring my mother 
back from Rome. This was the first time, however, 
that I was to cross the ocean "in the flesh." To me, 
Europe had always seemed a fairy-land of romance. 
I was delighted at the mere thought of going there. 
My husband, on the contrary, was quite indifferent 
about it. This was perhaps owing to his state of 
health. The task of parting him from his business 
proved extremely difficult. Like many conscientious 
persons, he felt that he simply could not leave the mat- 
ters to which no one else could, in his opinion, properly 
attend. Fortunately, our daughter Caroline was go- 
ing with us. With her help we managed to get off, 
but the final wrench was terrific ! No sooner had the 

286 



DARBY AND JOAN ON THEIR TRAVELS 

good ship Zeeland sailed than a complete change came 
over the spirit of his dreams. He enjoyed every mo- 
ment of our trip ; indeed, we both did. ''Darby and 
Joan on their travels" were like two middle-aged but 
very happy children. 

To our delight, Mr. and Mrs. Larz Anderson, the 
latter an old friend of my daughter, proved to be 
among the passengers. We all sat at a table together, 
Miss Susie Dalton making the sixth of a merry party. 
I suspect that the Andersons ordered special cakes 
and ale, for the table had the most delightfully deco- 
rative appearance. They certainly treated us to 
champagne, which is well known to be a preventive 
of seasickness. 

The only drawback to our joy in Antwerp was the 
constant striking of the cathedral chimes. Every 
rose has its thorns and every cathedral has its bells, 
but all do not keep up their music through the live- 
long night. We consoled ourselves by the remem- 
brance that Thackeray also suffered! 

The old houses especially charmed us wherever we 
went. The quaint Flemish dwellings with the rope 
and pulley at the top explained to us why the French 
attics are called greniers or granaries. 

A visit to the house of Mrs. George R. Fearing 
at Fontainebleau gave us a delightful glimpse of 
French country life. Even the name of the street 
where she lived, 'Vue de I'Arbre Sec," had a promise 
of romance. Here we found ''modern conveniences" 
and charming hospitality combined with the setting 
and atmosphere of a French country house. This 
kind friend had lived so long in France as to become 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

thoroughly acclimated. Indeed, she did not return to 
America until the sound of the cannon at her gates 
in the battle of the Marne drove her from her beloved 
France. 

The family came together at twelve o'clock, for an 
excellent luncheon, followed by coffee in the garden. 
Here the lofty walls gave us a delightful feeling of 
privacy, even though we were living in the midst of 
a small town. The European use of the garden as an 
annex to the house is so eminently reasonable that 
one can hardly understand why its introduction has 
been so fiercely fought in our own country. 

In our friend's garden, as everywhere in France, 
the combination of beauty with economy delighted 
us. Who but the French would think of using spin- 
ach as a border to the flower-beds? 

At three o'clock came the daily drive into the 
wonderful forest, with a visit to some spot of interest. 
Our thoughtful hostess always provided a gouter of 
bread and chocolate, our funny old driver taking his 
at a little distance apart. When we visited quaint 
Barbizon, we munched our gouter under the shadow 
of the monument to its great artists. On our return 
we dined at seven, and so the pleasant day ended. 

Among the villages on the borders of the forest, 
Moret, with its ancient, turreted gates and factory 
of beautiful chinaware, is especially charming. The 
dear old church, fast falling into decay, wrung our 
hearts. "Darby" was a zealous Protestant, but he 
felt it right to drop something in the ''tronc pour la 
restauration de Veglisef' Alas ! one does not like to 
think of the decay that must, during the present war, 



DARBY AND JOAN ON THEIR TRAVELS 

have overtaken many of these beautiful old wayside 
churches. 

As the lovely Palace of Fontainebleau was almost 
at our door we had excellent opportunities of becom- 
ing acquainted with it. It is especially satisfactory to 
the tourist, because the rooms still retain the old 
artistic furniture. When wandering through them 
you seem to catch a glimpse of the vanished past with 
its grandeur. 

When the time came for us to leave Fontainebleau 
and start on our pilgrimage, we felt very much like 
elderly Babes in the Wood, for Caroline was to stay 
behind with Mrs. Fearing. She had fortified us, 
however, with much advice. We were especially 
cautioned to observe her instructions as to the proper 
amount of the pourhoire, in order that the hack- 
drivers might perceive us to be, not perhaps exactly 
natives, but persons of knowledge who could not be 
easily imposed upon. 

We each brought certain modest talents to our 
combined stock as a company of adventure. Darby 
had the splendid quality of enthusiasm and an intense 
love of the beautiful. He had also a power of orien- 
tation most surprising to his partner. He always 
knew east from west; with guide-book and map in 
hand, he could perform the most marvelous feats of 
going about in strange places. Joan felt it to be an 
unnecessary fatigue to bother your head about direc- 
tion when you could take an omnibus marked with 
the name of the place you wanted to visit. If there 
wasn't any omnibus you could hire a cab, and the 
driver always knew where to go ! 

289 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

She contributed to the common stock a knowledge 
of French that enabled her to understand the spoken 
word and to speak it herself — with some pauses. Be- 
ing of a hopeful disposition, she had a sublime con- 
fidence that everything would go right, in spite of 
appearances. This proved to be a good traveling 
companion, although it did give us some anxious mo- 
ments in the matter of catching trains. For your 
optimist is apt to cut her time allowance short. 
Darby, who went abroad for nerves, felt positive we 
never could catch that train, but we always did ! 

It was our great delight to go about on the top of 
an omnibus. Darby would carry all his worldly 
goods with him, so that it was necessary for Joan to 
sit always on his right or pocketbook side. His agony 
was great when a suspicious-looking character sat 
down next to the pocketbook. We did see a few 
ferocious-looking men who reminded us of the French 
Revolution. 

Darby's indifference toward the Old World 
changed rapidly into a chronic state of enthusiasm. 
We were indifferent to shops, and the season was 
late for theater-going. Our great pleasure lay in 
looking up old houses and monuments of the past, as 
well as in visiting the many museums, picture-gal- 
leries, and churches which make Paris the most 
wonderful city in the world. 

A visit to Madame Henri Blanc (Therese de Solms 
Bentzon), well known for her writings in the Revue 
des Deux Mondes, was among the pleasures of my 
stay in Paris. Either I was a little early in arriving 
at her apartment or my hostess was a trifle late. She 

290 



DARBY AND JOAN ON THEIR TRAVELS 

soon came in, however, and entertained me with 
afternoon tea, the adorable Httle French cakes, and 
her own interesting conversation. After a little pre- 
liminary maneuvering for position, we settled down 
into the French language, Madame Blanc assuring 
me, with true Gallic politeness, that my French was 
better than her English. 

I was very glad to have an opportunity to hear her 
express her opinions unhampered by a foreign lan- 
guage. 

Madame Blanc had much to say on the subject of 
flirtations, of which she greatly disapproved. It was 
evident to me that, using the word in a graver sense 
than we do, she somewhat misjudged our American 
flirtations. Yet how diflicult it is to explain to a 
foreigner our lenient view of what appears to her a 
dangerous pastime! She doubtless thought of these 
as a careless trifling with affairs of the heart on the 
part of married women. A Frenchwoman cannot 
fully understand the meaning of the half -playful, 
usually quite harmless, flirtations of our young girls, 
because their position and freedom of action are in- 
comprehensible to her. Yet, as Madame Blanc was 
the translator of American romances and as she had 
paid especial attention to our life and manners, her 
opinions deserve careful consideration. 

When I saw her in 1902 Madame Blanc was of 
fair complexion, gray-haired, and rather stout. She 
was dressed in black, with no pretensions to coquetry. 
In fact, she was frankly a middle-aged French- 
woman. 

My husband had certain rooted prejudices in the 
«9l 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

dietary line which were not easily overcome. Thus to 
rabbit he bitterly objected. 

Caroline and I one day found him in the midst of 
an animated altercation with the waiter. The latter 
had, he suspected, brought him the odious lapifi, 
which he wished instantly exchanged for something 
else. The waiter vainly tried to point out that of the 
two "meats" he was entitled only to one. He had not 
only chosen lapin, but, like Proserpine, he had tasted 
of the fatal dish. The waiter doubtless considered 
the complaint to be of the lapin as lapin. That it 
was a perfectly good rabbit he stoutly maintained. 
It was an intense international moment! Caroline 
deftly straightened out the tangle and soothed the 
injured feelings of the waiter. 

We were so fortunate as to see Mounet- Sully in 
"CEdipus." The formalism of the play, the archaic 
device of having the story related by the chorus, 
caused Darby to sniff during the first part of the per- 
formance. Darby was extremely fond of the theater, 
especially of Shakespeare's plays. When the climax 
of "GEdipus" was reached in the last act, his Puritan 
self-control gave way. In his enthusiasm he shouted, 
''Bravo! bravo!" This sudden flaming forth of 
American admiration for the great actor surprised 
the quiet French people — strangers to us — who had 
seats in our box. 

In Antwerp we had admired the cathedral, in spite 
of the somewhat hybrid character of its architecture. 
Within, the stalls for the clergy and choir^ — forests 
of lovely carved wood — were a perfect revelation 
to us. In Paris the Cathedral of Notre Dame espe- 

^92 



DARBY AND JOAN ON THEIR TRAVELS 

cially delighted us. Henceforth our trip, while it had 
many interesting side features, became in truth a 
cathedral pilgrimage. We became perfectly infatu- 
ated with the beauty and the grandeur of these won- 
derful dreams in stone, the finest buildings in the 
world erected since the days of the Parthenon. 

The height of the French cathedrals is astounding. 
As we stood in the matchless nave of Amiens and 
looked up one hundred and forty clear feet to the 
vaulting far above our heads, we could hardly believe 
that it was made of stone. How could such a weight 
be sustained? 

We had such faith in its stability, however, that 
here and in other cathedrals we walked about in a 
sort of vast attic between this stone vaulting and the 
outer roof. The young French girl who guided us 
was as nimble as a goat. She seemed to have no' 
fear of falling in places where I stepped with fear 
and trembling. 

It was a slight shock to find that the famous spires 
of Chartres are not alike, having been built at dif- 
ferent periods, yet they are held to be unsurpassed in 
France. The older one is much simpler than its 
younger brother. We had been delighted with the 
stained glass of Notre Dame in Paris, and we had 
enjoyed — with some reservations — that of the Sainte- 
Chapelle. But the windows at Chartres were a reve- 
lation. They were like gleaming jewels on an enor- 
mous scale, wonderful, wonderful to behold. The 
deep-blue tones I especially remember. The windows 
in the clearstory of the nave are very beautiful, the 
superior height of the French cathedrals making 

m 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

these much larger and more beautiful than the cor- 
responding windows in the English minsters. In 
the latter the choir is often fenced off from the nave by 
an ugly jube, or rood screen, surmounted by an organ, 
instead of being left open, as in France. The reason 
of this difference is that the French churches were 
built by the people, in an almost literal sense, for they 
not only gave money, but in some instances actually 
hauled the great blocks of stone in their pious zeal. 
Hence the French people rightly felt that these splen- 
did buildings belonged to them. 

At Chart res it makes one's heart ache to see that 
the exquisite lacework in stone of the choir screen is 
broken in a number of places, though still most beau- 
tiful. The great triple porches, with their portals 
fairly crowded with sculptured figures, delighted us. 
Even the layman can see that the quaint, exaggerated 
elongation of the statues serves a definite architect- 
ural purpose. 

At Beauvais we visited the famous tapestry-works 
and saw the workmen carrying on their craft. Each 
held a little mirror in his lap, showing the right side 
of the texture, the wrong, on which he wrought, be- 
ing turned toward him. Their hands looked white 
and soft like a woman's. Beauvais has its heroine, 
who seems to be little known outside the limits of 
the town. When Charles the Bold of Burgundy 
attacked the place the inhabitants defended it success- 
fully, the women helping. In the market-place stands 
a statue of Jeanne Laine, or Hachette, the heroine of 
the fight. The banner which she captured with her 
own hands is still preserved. 

^4 



DARBY AND JOAN ON THEIR TRAVELS 

It seems fitting that the boldest and highest flight 
of Gothic architecture should have been attempted in 
a place with such traditions. Alas ! The result proved 
that it is best not to be overbold. The Cathedral of 
St. Pierre was and is a magnificent fragment, for it 
was never finished. When the noble and beautiful' 
spire fell, five years after its completion, on Ascension 
Day, 1573, it was said that with it fell the pointed 
style in France. 

We reached the Cathedral of Beauvais in time to 
witness a procession in honor of the Virgin's Assump- 
tion. It was pleasant to see the townspeople thus 
making active use of their "enormous, though ill- 
proportioned and yet magnificent, church." 

We entered by the south transept, which is most 
beautiful and impressive. Standing before it, one 
does not see that the nave is wanting; one only 
admires a vast structure, richly carved. We found 
the choir made beautifully light and bright by its 
three lofty stories of stained glass. The building 
gives one no sense of repose, for in the desire to 
realize the vast height the eye constantly follows the 
course of the colossal piers as they rise up, up, up in 
the air. Alas ! various scaffoldings erected in the 
interior to strengthen weak parts give one a feeling 
of insecurity. 

From certain points of view, the Cathedral of 
Beauvais looks like a stranded monster of the past. 
Its vast height is exaggerated by the lack of a nave, 
making it appear high-shouldered and out of pro- 
portion. Yet other views of it are so beautiful and 
so impressive that we felt well repaid for our trip. 

295 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Before the year 19 14 we thought of Rheims 
Cathedral as the most beautiful of the great sister 
churches of France. Now we think of her as of a 
loved one no longer living. We cannot speak her 
name without sorrow, for the crown of martyrdom 
has been added to her other glories. 

We were so anxious to see as much as possible of 
the cathedral that we took rooms in the hotel oppo- 
site it. From our windows we looked directly out 
at the wonderful facade. There was one terrible 
drawback, however, to our proximity to the cathedral. 
We were awakened at about five in the morning by 
a loud and persistent ringing of the bells of the great 
church. The repetition of the same tone over and 
over again, several hundred times, drove Darby al- 
most to distraction. Later we learned that it had 
been the custom to ring this tocsin at this time for 
four or five hundred years ! What a comment on the 
industry of the place, and indeed of the French 
people generally! 

We viewed the building from many points, noting 
the wonderful way in which the beautiful features 
of the structure echo from one part to another till 
they reach the highest pinnacle and vanish into the 
heavens, as the great church itself has now vanished, 
all but a few ruins. Perhaps it has again taken 
shape there. May we not hope to see its image, 
etherealized, in the Celestial City? 

As to the fagade, in these stirring days of the 
twentieth century it is splendid to think of it as the 
unsurpassed and unsurpassable triumph of democ- 
racy! For it was owing to the popular ownership 

296 



DARBY AND JOAN ON THEIR TRAVELS 

of these buildings in France that the faqade, or peo^ 
pie's end, became so wonderfully developed. For the 
same reason the French cathedrals stand in the streets 
of the town, always readily accessible to the people. 
Whereas the great English churches are shut away in 
closes, indicating the more aristocratic and exclusive 
rule of the clergy. 

Darby irreverently observed that the English 
clergy in the cathedrals seemed as snug as mice in a 
cheese ! 

We saw many beautiful doorways in France, both 
in cathedrals and in smaller churches, but none can 
compare with those of Rheims. Their shape is of 
very great and peculiar beauty. These vast arched 
portals curve inward and downward almost like 
a cup. 

I had some talk with the workmen engaged in 
making the restorations. These are imperative, as 
without them the cathedrals would go to decay. 
Rheims is built of a beautiful yellowish-brown ma- 
terial, but the stone is too soft to wear well. The 
repairs were made in a spirit of reverence. The 
method we found surprising. In reconstructing a 
pinnacle they build it up into the form of a single 
block of stone, and then carve it as a sculptor carves 
a statue out of a block of marble. 

Late one August afternoon we stood before the 
lofty portals. I fancied the great figures near their 
base — the rows of saints — grew more lifelike in the 
twilight, as if preparing to step down from their 
niches. As evening fell the army of figures carved 
in stone seemed to give the cathedral a human look. 

297 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

They were almost alive in the twilight. What tales 
of the centuries were they prepared to tell us, these 
dumb witnesses of many a grand pageant and of the 
coronation of the kings of France for more than six 
hundred years! Did they feel a glow of national 
pride when the Maid of Orleans brought the recreant 
Charles VII hither to be crowned and achieved her 
greatest triumph under that vast roof? 

The summit of our pilgrimage of joy had now 
been reached; after this there was a gentle descent 
to glories still great, but lesser than the five supreme 
examples of Gothic art we had already seen. To be 
sure, the Abbey Church of St. Ouen at Rouen is 
thought the most beautiful thing of its kind in 
Europe. We should have been only too happy to 
enjoy it as it stood, without criticism, save for one 
sad fault. The western facade — the glory of our 
other cathedrals — is very disappointing, for it is mod- 
ern, arid looks so! Indeed, it seems cheap and com- 
monplace. It was built by Viollet-le-Duc, who 
did not adhere to the original plans, which still 
exist! 

We admired greatly the fagade of the Cathedral 
of Rouen, with its wonderful decoration. Monet has 
made a series of lovely paintings of it. We realized, 
however, that there was a distinct descent from the 
earlier, nobler, and more reserved monuments of 
Gothic art. It lacks the tremendous sincerity of 
these. 

Ascending the towers of the various cathedrals we 
found a mystic and sometimes an alarming task. If a 
guide went with us, well and good, but often he 

298 



DARBY AND JOAN ON THEIR TRAVELS 

trustingly left us to our own devices. Evidently we 
could not run away with the tower. A sacristan, 
however pious, is, after all, human, especially as to 
his legs. No matter how aspiring his soul, his frame 
cannot endure an infinite number of ascensions in 
the company of successive squads of tourists. So he 
often pressed a lighted taper into the hands of 
Darby, receiving in return a franc or so. Round and 
round the dark spiral staircase we wound our way, 
stepping always on the damp stones worn by the feet 
of countless pilgrims of the centuries. We could see 
but a short way before us. Suppose pickpockets or 
cutthroats were lurking around the next turn of the 
winding stairway, what could we do? Fortunately, 
we never met any one more alarming than tourists 
like ourselves, who passed us without hostile demon- 
strations. 

Our stay in France had been a period of enchant- 
ment. When we reached Le Havre and embarked 
for England we began once more to touch the ground 
of real life. When every one about you speaks your 
language there is an end of the wonderful mystery 
that seems to encompass the traveler on foreign soil. 

Things in England were not like things in America, 
but both were prose, whereas in France all had been 
poetry. The universal provisions against rain of 
course amused us — the reversible seats on the tops 
of the omnibuses, the rubber trousers which the po- 
licemen calmly folded up and laid, when not in use, 
at the feet of the lions of Trafalgar. 

The cathedrals were beautiful, but we missed the 
soaring height of their French sisters. The English 

299 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

cathedrals are not true Gothic, hke those of northern 
France, neither do they possess the wonderful wealth 
and variety of ornamentation of the latter. 

At Plymouth we had the great pleasure of staying 
in an English country house, our hosts being Colonel 
and Mrs. Dudley Mills. Here we found the true 
British hospitality which is so delightful. The fact 
that some one — either your host or his myrmidons — 
is constantly thinking of your comfort is certainly 
pleasant. Cans of hot water, brought constantly to 
your door, are not so convenient, in reality, as faucets, 
but they add a personal and human touch, like the 
open-grate fires which some one must constantly 
tend! 

The Devonshire clotted cream we especially liked. 
Also, after our continental experience, it was refresh- 
ing to see church floors actually washed! 

To have Devonshire designated in the newspapers 
as the /'West" of England seemed very funny. It 
had not occurred to us that the country was large 
enough to have any ''West" ! 

Nothing in England impressed me more than the 
sculptures from the Parthenon in the British Mu- 
seum. Not even the incongruity of their surround- 
ings, in a bare, stuffy room, can mar their wonderful 
beauty. The grace of the recumbent figures in their 
marvelous drapery, the heads of the horses of the 
setting sun, the pageant of the Panathenaic proces-' 
sion, all the figures so stately, yet so graceful — truly 
the ruins of Greece are more glorious than any sculpt- 
ure the modem world can show ! 

People said that it would be impossible for me to 
300 



DARBY AND JOAN ON THEIR TRAVELS 

see Florence Nightingale, then a confirmed invalid 
living in extreme retirement. 

But I felt confident that for the sake of her old 
friends, my parents, as well as for my own, she would 
receive her goddaughter if her health permitted. It 
was more than fifty years since she had written, "I 
shall hope to see my little Florence before long in 
this world," and the time was growing short. 

She had said, too, she trusted a tie had been formed 
between us which should continue in eternity:. "If 
she is like you I shall know her again there without 
her body on, perhaps the better for not having known 
her here with it." 

With the extraordinary promptness characteristic 
of the London post, a reply to my letter came from 
Miss Nightingale's secretary, appointing a time for 
me to call. 

Our landlady tried to impress upon me the great- 
ness of the privilege thus granted. Like all her coun- 
trywomen, she greatly admired Florence Nightin- 
gale, although, with the curious British reserve, the 
expression of her admiration was to be mortuary 
only. 

"When she dies I shall send her a funeral wreath !" 
quoth Miss X. She also specified that the price was 
to be five dollars, if I remember aright. 

Miss Nightingale's house at lo South Street, Park 
Lane, was in Mayfair, the aristocratic quarter of 
London. There was nothing especially striking about 
the quiet and commodious dwelling, with its air of 
dignified simplicity and retirement so well befitting* 
the quiet tastes of its noble-hearted mistress. Flor^ 
20 301 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

ence Nightingale's dislike of ostentation is well 
known. To serve her fellow-men and to relieve suf- 
fering was the ruling passion of her life, but she 
always shunned publicity, save as it might be neces- 
sary for the accomplishment of her work. 

Upon my arrival I was met by a young lady, MisS' 
Cochrane, who was, I presume, the secretary. She 
told me that Miss Nightingale had been interested in 
my letter and would enjoy seeing me. But she 
warned me not to stay long and to leave if my hostess 
seemed tired. Presently the nurse called me, and we 
ascended some flights of stairs till we reached a large 
pleasant room where I was ushered into the presence 
of Florence Nightingale. She was reclining in bedj 
propped up by pillows. A soft woolen shawl was 
around her shoulders. Her gray hair, still thick and 
not so white as that of most persons of her age 
(eighty-two), was parted in the middle and brushed 
smoothly down on each side beneath a plain cap. Her 
features were strong, the nose slightly aquiline, the 
eyes bright, apparently gray. She reminded me of 
Ralph Waldo Emerson in a certain shrewd and kindly 
look which seemed to betoken a strong sense of 
humor. Her complexion was good, her color also, 
with something of the English ruddiness. Her voice 
was strong and full, an unusual thing in a person of 
her age. A pad and pencil lay beside her, with which 
she made some notes in the course of our talk. 

"What a dear old lady!" I said to myself as I 
looked at her. I had been warned that I must myself 
do the greater part of the talking, as it would not 
do to fatigue my distinguished hostess. In her Notes 

302 



DARBY AND JOAN ON THEIR TRAVELS 

on Nursing she gives these vigorous and sensible hints 
for just such a visit as I was making. 

Do you who are about the sick or who visit the sick, try 
and give them pleasure, remember to tell them what will do so. 
How often in such visits the sick person has to do the whole 
conversation. ... A sick person does so enjoy hearing good 
news — for instance, of a love and courtship while in progress, 
to a good ending. 

(How glad I am to think that I had the sense to 
tell her two of my sons had taken wives unto them- 
selves. "I am glad they are married," said the dear 
lady.) 

A sick person also intensely enjoys hearing of any material 
good, any positive or practical success of the right. He has 
so much of books and fiction, of principles and precepts and 
theories ; do, instead of advising him with advice he has heard 
at least fifty times before, tell him of one benevolent act which 
has really succeeded practically — it is like a day's health to him. 

Instead of repining at her enforced inactivity and 
grieving over her sufferings, like the usual egotistical 
invalid, this glorious soul found its health and 
strength in hearing of the good works of others! 
What wonder that her presence was like a benedic- 
tion ! People said to me afterward : 

"Is she alone in her old age?'* 

"Whom has she with her?" 

It was evident that she was shielded and tended 
with thoughtful care and kindness. One could not 
associate the idea of loneliness with her, although she 
had survived most of her contemporaries and near 

303 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

relatives. Perhaps a glorious but invisible company 
made that quiet room so bright and cheerful! 

It need scarcely be said that I would have much 
preferred to have her take the lead in conversation, 
but, since this could not well be, I endeavored to tell 
her things she would like to hear. Miss Nightingale 
was up to date and interested in the questions of the 
day. We talked of many things and she was a most 
sympathetic listener. The questions she asked showed 
what close attention she paid to the conversation. 
They showed also her sound and practical common 
sense. She had, be it said, that most important gift, 
a, strong sense of humor. Thus she was decidedly 
amused at my quixotic views with regard to the 
Elgin marbles in the British Museum. Knowing her 
interest in Greece (which she visited in her young 
days), I ventured to tell her my real thought — 
namely, that these ought to be returned to the 
Acropolis. 

"Why do not you suggest this to Parliament?" 
Miss Nightingale asked. 

She wished to know if my husband and I had been 
long in England, and we spoke of the various attrac- 
tions of London. 

When I descanted on the horrors of the Tower, 
with its great display of weapons for men to kill 
one another with, she said she, too, thought it hor- 
rible. I expressed the hope that when women had 
more to say there would not be so much war. That 
in my opinion men were afraid to give us more 
power, because, although they pretended to think us 
less clever, they really thought us more so than them- 

304 



DARBY AND JOAN ON THEIR TRAVELS 

selves and were afraid we would get the upper hand. 
Miss Nightingale asked whether I thought the men 
considered themselves more clever, and, with a spice 
of roguishness, inquired whether I would like to have 
the upper hand ! 

She had a way of making a little semi-humorous 
gesture with her hand, drawing it back slightly and 
then bringing it forward again. The fact that women 
already had the suffrage in four states of the Union 
interested her, and she asked which those were. On 
hearing that women voted for President in Colorado, 
Wyoming, Utah, and Idaho, she asked the practical 
question : 

"Have you voted for President?" 

I was obliged to confess that I had not. 

Miss Nightingale said that women in America have 
more authority than they do in England. 

She was pleased to hear about the Woman's Jour- 
nal, giving news of women all over the world. She 
asked for the address of the paper and wrote it down 
on the tablet lying beside her. 

It was a pleasure to tell this dear lady of the health 
and vigor of her old friend and contemporary, my 
mother — that Mrs. Howe read Greek every morning. 

That the blind had arranged and successfully car- 
ried out a celebration of the centennial of their bene- 
factor and the friend of her youth, Doctor Howe, 
appealed to her, and she expressed a desire to have a 
copy of the monograph describing the occasion. 

Miss Nightingale's sense of hospitality would not 
permit me to leave without partaking of some re- 
freshment. As we sat chatting together, afternoon 

305 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

tea with the usual accompaniments — toast, etc. — was 
brought for my delectation, all with the immaculate 
neatness and daintiness so characteristic of the 
author of Notes on Nursing. Miss Nightingale her- 
self took no tea, but a goblet with what appeared like 
lemonade was brought to her. 

So I had the honor of taking tea with one of the 
world's greatest heroines! One would never have 
guessed this from her bearing, however. It was 
characterized by perfect simplicity and an entire ab- 
sence of self-assertion. In a word, she had the man- 
ners of a true English gentlewoman of high breeding. 

She more than once expressed regret that we had 
so little time for England, owing to a prolonged stay 
in France. This evidently impressed her, as she re- 
curred to it. She seemed really sorry that we were 
obliged to leave England so soon, and said we must 
come back again. 

I was indeed reluctant to leave her serene and' 
beautiful presence, but, remembering the caution of 
the secretary and feeling upon honor, as I had been 
left alone with my distinguished hostess, I arose in 
due season to take my leave. I shall not soon forget 
the sweetness and fullness of the voice in which the 
dear lady bade me farewell. I seem to hear that 
"Good-by" still ringing in my ears and repeated more 
than once as a sort of benediction: "Good-by! 
Good-by!" Her voice was like my mother's. No 
sign of age was in its full, rounded tones, wonderful 
in a woman more than eighty years old. 

Thus a beautiful old age, serene and tranquil, fitly 
crowned her life of most beneficent activity. 

306 



DARBY AND JOAN ON THEIR TRAVELS 

"The Lady with the Lamp" who watched over the 
sick soldiers, flitting from room to room when all 
others slept, lived to see her work multiplied a thou- 
sandfold and spread all over the earth. What wonder 
that the evening of her days was serene and happy 
in the thought of so much suffering saved, so much 
blessing gained to the children of men ! 



XXII 



"wander-years" 



Michael Anagnos, His Romantic Yet Practical Career. — Death 
of My Husband. — Return to New York. — My Daughter's 
Exhibitions. — High Bridge, a Quaint Old Jersey Town. — 
Leader Twelfth Assembly District of Manhattan. — Suffrage- 
worker at Newport, Rhode Island. — The Delights of Can- 
vassing and Out-of-door Speaking. 

ONE morning in the summer of 1906 I took up 
the newspaper and saw that my brother-in-law, 
Michael Anagnos, had died in Rumania, after a brief 
illness. 

The news was sad indeed for us ; we were attached 
to him not only for his own sake, but for that of our 
sister Julia and of our father as well. With his death 
the close connection which had existed between the 
Howe family and the Institution for the Blind dur- 
ing nearly three-quarters of a century came to an 
end. It was the beginning of a new era! The re- 
moval of the Institution to Watertown, which shortly 
followed, emphasized the loss. 

South Boston had now become so closely built as 
to make this change desirable. But my heart felt a 
dreadful pang at the abandonment of the beloved old 
Institution, dear to us from a thousand associations 
— the house where I was born ! 

The early story of Michael Anagnos was a romantic 



'WANDER-YEARS'' 

one. There was the unkind stepmother of tradition 
and the devoted great-grandmother who brought 
him up. When, in hunting for birds' eggs, his 
thumb was bitten by the serpent already in the 
nest, this vahant soul bound the wounded mem- 
ber tightly with her gold chain, then sucked the 
poison from it. If he indulged in some boyish mis- 
chief, she would shake her head and say, "Aha! I 
told the Tapa' he did not duck your head under thor- 
oughly when he baptized you!" (In the Greek 
Orthodox Church baptism is by immersion. ) 

Like David of old, little Michael tended his father's 
flocks, but the passion of the boy, true to the instincts 
of his race, was for education. He studied by the 
light of a pine torch, and copied out the school-books 
he could not afford to buy. By dint of extreme fru- 
gality he was able to complete his studies at the 
University of Athens. 

For a time he was engaged in newspaper work and 
interested in politics. Then he met my father and 
became his assistant in ministering to the suffering 
Cretan exiles in Athens. 

The story goes on like a true romance. Young 
Anagnos, accompanying Doctor Howe to America, 
struggled valiantly with the difficulties attending 
transplantation to a foreign soil, but finally overcame 
them all. 

"You say you have only five vowels in English. 
You really have twenty-six," he would plaintively 
remark. 

How his faithfulness and tireless industry won one 
step after another, how he married sister Julia and 

309 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

succeeded my father as director of the Institution, 
has been already told. 

It was indeed a triumph for a foreigner to win 
the appointment to such a responsible position in the 
conservative town of Boston. 

He abundantly justified the trust reposed in him, 
devoting his whole soul and his considerable talents 
to the task. His signal success, like that of his prede- 
cessor, has become a part of the proud record of the 
state of Massachusetts. 

The two men were very unlike. Doctor Howe was 
essentially a leader, original in thought, quick and 
daring in action, yet possessing great patience. 

The work of the pioneer was eminently congenialji 
to him. He laid the foundations of the education for 
the blind in this country on such broad lines, he so 
thoroughly thought out and left on record the prin- 
ciples governing it, that his reports are considered 
educational classics. Hence his successor took up a 
work already well established. The task of Anagnos 
was to administer and to enlarge. For this he was 
admirably fitted. He greatly augmented the work of 
the printing in embossed letters, by raising a Howe 
Memorial Fund, largely increasing, also, the financial 
assets of the Institution. 

His most striking achievement was the foundation 
and maintenance of a kindergarten for the blind, the 
first of its kind in the world. Both he and sister Julia^ 
were extremely fond of children. She had been" 
greatly interested in the enterprise, but died while it 
was still in its infancy. Her last words were, "Take 
care of the little blind children." 

310 



'WANDER-YEARS'' 

Anagnos made very full reports of the work under 
his charge. After the death of my sister it fell to my 
lot to go through these in order to make sure that 
the English idioms, so difficult for a foreigner to 
catch, were all correct. Thus for some twenty years 
it was my annual task to criticize "Michael's" reports.' 

The great, square, brown paper envelopes in which 
these were contained, directed in my brother-in-law's 
beautiful copper-plate hand, were sometimes greeted 
with groans on their arrival. For they were due at a 
season of the year when I was very busy. 

Yet the work was very helpful to me, because it 
called for careful consideration of the reasons for or 
against certain forms of speech. With the preposi- 
tions we had special difficulty. Anagnos, too, as a 
true Oriental, possessed a very flowery style which it 
was necessary to prune and restrain in order to adapt 
it to our cold New England climate. At first he 
would pile metaphor upon metaphor and add simile to 
simile until his sober Puritan sister-in-law stood 
aghast. We had special difficulties with the obituaries 
of deceased benefactors of the Institution, whose 
virtues his gratitude painted in the most glowing 
colors. To have excellent but matter-of-fact Boston 
citizens compared to spreading oak-trees of benevo-' 
lence seemed to me a trifle incongruous. I also de- 
murred to "the Ark of the Institution keeping step in 
the march of progress." 

Looking back on the matter now, I am inclined to 
think my brother-in-law knew human nature better 
than I did. My work in cutting down the adjectives 
of encomium was perhaps supererogatory. 

311 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

Anagnos found it on the whole very satisfactory. 
My use of English was the best in the family, he 
averred — but then he was a foreigner! 

To his countrymen he was always ready to lend a 
helping hand. On the wall of his sitting-room hung 
an immense piece of canvas showing a ruined Greek 
temple, done in cross-stitch — "All there is to show, 
my dear, for two thousand dollars!'' 

He had lent this sum to a compatriot desiring to 
engage in the confectionery business. It is not prob- 
able that he often lost money in this way, for the 
Greeks are a thrifty race. 

He was deeply interested in the war between Tur- 
key and Greece. I could appreciate the eloquence of 
his address to his fellow-countrymen, even though 
no word was intelligible to me. When he seized their 
national flag and waved it they burst into applause. 

It was wonderful to hear the ancient language 
spoken as a living tongue. 

One could fancy how it must have sounded from 
the lips of Demosthenes. When Anagnos at his desk 
added up a column of figures he would occasionally 
murmur their Greek names. Thus the shades of the 
old classic world seemed to brood above the prosaic 
office-table of our day! 

A great meeting in Music Hall, held in honor of 
his memory, testified to the affection and respect in 
which he was held. Here, also, the Old and New 
Worlds mingled, a priest of the Greek Church, robed 
in mourning, taking part in the ceremonies ; at a me- 
morial function held by his fellow-countrymen 
funeral sweetmeats were given to those present. 

312 



''WANDER-YEARS'' 

Having devoted his life to the service of his 
adopted country, Anagnos bequeathed his fortune to 
the cause of education in his native land. He founded 
two schools for girls in Epiros, naming them for his 
mother. 

Our trip to Europe had given my husband a much- 
needed rest from care, and his health had improved 
correspondingly. 

But from the time he was sixteen, when his brother 
entered the Union army, his lifelong habit had been 
to take more than his share of responsibility and, 
sparing those around him, to work to the limit of his 
strength, often beyond it. We did induce him to 
relax his efforts somewhat, but his unselfish nature 
and gallant spirit alike urged him to go on with the 
work of his arduous profession, that of the law. 

He returned from the office, one Saturday, ap- 
parently in his usual health. But some over-exertion 
in working in the garden brought on an attack which 
ended fatally in a few hours. Thus he died literally 
in harness. 

I said to myself, "I have let a most precious jewel 
slip through my fingers." How much I had been 
sheltered and shielded by my husband^s devotion,^ 
what his affection had meant to me during thirty-six 
years of married life, I now realized for the first 
time. 

The suttee of the Indian widow, formerly incom- 
prehensible, I began to understand. Fortunately, 
there was much work for me to do. Our daughter 
had returned from her art studies in Paris a year 
before, in order to give her father, whose health we 

313 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

knew to be precarious, the pleasure of her companion- 
ship. 

She already had a studio in Plainfield, but New 
York afforded a much better opening. The charge 
of the moving she assumed, since it would have been 
simply impossible for me to empty the house of the 
accumulations of fourteen years in the two weeks at 
our disposal. 

She is a young woman of great resolution, and 
somehow we accomplished the job. We took an 
apartment in Washington Square and a studio in the 
old Stokes Building. The latter Caroline arranged 
charmingly, after the fashion of artists. Here we 
received our friends. I enjoyed this glimpse into the 
art world and managed to pick up a few gleanings of 
knowledge. 

It was essential, however, that daughter's painting 
should help with the bread and butter, so "one-man 
shows" became a part of my education. She had an 
exhibition at the rooms of the Civic League in New 
York, and two in successive summers, at houses lent 
us for the purpose, in Newport. Here we had more 
friends than in the great city, and we had the power- 
ful assistance of sister Maud, ever generous in help- 
ing others. Many pictures were sold, to our joy, 
though T sometimes hated to part with them. A little 
maternal partiality no doubt entered into this affec- 
tion for my daughter's paintings. But they certainly 
had charm, especially when a number were gathered 
together. 

My mother was still living and the summer studio 
was under her hospitable roof at "Oak Glen." Here 

314 



'WANDER-YEARS'' 

it was a great pleasure to see the work grow under 
Caroline's hands and to recognize the familiar and 
beloved island landscape, somewhat disguised by the 
requirements of art. 

Here, too, she painted the portrait of her grand- 
mother, studying closely the ever-changing face and 
sparing her subject as much as possible the tedium 
of sittings. A studio is the most delightful place in 
the world to those in sympathy with the artist. Here 
we have beauty, life, growth, creation, and, where a 
painter is concerned, the warmth and joy of color! 

Those were happy days, yet there were moments 
when I remembered that canvases and paints are 
dead things, compared with living human companion- 
ship. Therefore, when my daughter became engaged 
to be married to the Rev. Hugh Birckhead I knew 
that she had chosen wisely. Doubtless to all mothers 
the marriage of an only daughter, even under the 
very brightest auspices, is an occasion of mingled 
joy and sorrow. We rejoice at the new happiness; 
we regret the ending of the old home life and intimate 
companionship. In the midst of the strange confusion 
of feeling, on the great day, I did not fail to observe 
the gallant bearing of the groom as he came down the 
chancel steps to meet the bride, who looked her very 
best. Yet I was very near to tears. All that saved 
me from them was the comic look of a chorister 
marching in the wedding procession, a stout, short 
man with a round face and an open mouth that looked 
like the letter O. Since that time I have never quite 
liked Mendelssohn's "Wedding March." 

Without my daughter's companionship life proved 
315 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

lonely. After a year of it the youngest son came to 
his mother's rescue, proposing that we should keep 
house together, at High Bridge, New Jersey, where 
his work was. 

"But, my dear, are you sure you want me? Would 
not you rather continue bachelor housekeeping with 
your young friends?" 

He was very sure he did want Mother, evidently 
sharing my opinion that family life, even of two, is 
better than the existence of six or eight young men 
without any womankind. We took up our residence 
in the late Crucible Club — so named for the connec- 
tion of its inmates with the steel industry. With 
a sigh of relief Jack laid aside the cares of the estab^ 
lishment, which had naturally fallen upon him. (He 
has his father's talent for taking responsibilities off 
the shoulders of others.) He protested that he was 
willing to eat anything for dinner, provided he did- 
not have to order it ! 

High Bridge is a picturesque New Jersey bor- 
ough, some fifty-odd miles from New York. It is 
situated among the hills of the northwestern part of 
the state, four hundred feet above sea-level. To 
those knowing only the flatlands of eastern Jersey, 
this region with its rolling country and lovely views 
comes as a surprise. 

The town, considered from an economic standpoint, 
consists principally of the Taylor- Wharton Iron and 
Steel Company. This patriarchal institution was 
established in the eighteenth century by the Taylor 
family and still continues under their jurisdiction. 
It has grown from a small iron-foundry into a plant 

316 



'WANDER-YEARS'' 

with branches in other towns employing three thou- 
sand men in all. Its one hundred and seventy-fifth 
anniversary has recently been celebrated. 

Every one living in the village is either connected 
in some way with the steel-plant or keeps a shop to 
supply the wants of the workers. The latter are of a* 
class not commonly employed in such industries at the 
present day. There are some Hungarians and other 
foreigners, but the great backbone of the establish- 
ment consists of American men and women. Many 
of these have their own homes in the surrounding 
country, coming to work in the Ford cars which have 
nearly driven out the primeval High Bridge buggy. 
It is a proud boast of the company that there have 
been practically no strikes in its history. 

In little gate-houses and other odd places one sees 
the figures of quaint old men, still employed for little 
services instead of being flung into the discard. The 
Taylor Company has proved that kindness of heart 
helps rather than hinders success in business. Old 
retainers, here as elsewhere, sometimes take advan- 
tage of their position, but on the whole the system 
works well. 

The great distance from the metropolis and the 
small measure of railroad communication tend to 
isolate the village. If you miss a train you may be 
obliged to wait four hours for the next. All these 
conditions tend to produce quaint characters and a 
unique use of English. 

In High Bridge we are very careful never to say 
seen under any circumstances, substituting the elegant 
phrase, 'T have saw." Persons of a weakly constitu- 

21 317 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

tion are held to lack "stamania," while "financially' 
is considered more elegant than ''finally." If we wish 
to postpone a trip, we "refer" it till to-morrow. 

The combinations in shopkeeping are also out of the 
common. To have a barber sell oysters and ice- 
cream, and a clothier act as optician, surprises the 
city resident. High Bridge has an atmosphere all its 
own. One becomes readily attached to the quaint 
little town. 

My son's business calling him to New York, we 
spent some winters there, settling this time in Stuy- 
vesant Square near old St. George's Church. 

I was soon drawn into the maelstrom of the old, 
beloved work. The Twelfth Assembly District, famil- 
iarly known as "Charlie Murphy's," was clamoring 
for a leader of the Woman Suffrage party. Mrs. 
Frederick Gillette, who had conducted its affairs with 
great ability and signal devotion, absolutely refused 
to takeofHce again, as her health would not permit it. 
Her predecessor, the first leader, a lovely woman 
idolized by her fellow-suffragists, had died in harness ! 
I was on the wrong side of sixty and had been ad- 
vised by the doctor to take life quietly. 

Putting aside all misgivings as to possible fatal 
results, I accepted the office. A new role was now 
before me, for modem suffrage activities have opened' 
a field of effort very different from that of our earlier 
experience in New Jersey. 

Instead of expecting the people to come to us, we 
now went to them — opening "suffrage shops," as the 
temporary headquarters are called ; speaking at street 
comers; visiting our neighbors in their own homes; 

318 



'WANDER-YEARS'' 

last but not least, watching at the polls, both inside 
and out. The canvassing was the most interesting of 
all, when we had once gathered the courage to do it 
ourselves. It was by no means so difficult as we had 
feared. 

We had full directions from the finely organized 
parent association, the Woman Suffrage party, and 
the neighboring twenty-fifth district launched us on 
our task. Then we used our own mother wits. 
Team-work and a supplementary supper were found 
to be essential to the task. This was not only on 
account of the good-fellowship and the good cheer 
involved, but also because we ourselves had omitted 
our own evening meal in order to catch the voters 
while partaking of theirs ! 

The good nature and patience of the men, thus 
interrupted, was pleasant to see. We announced our- 
selves as representatives of the Woman Suffrage 
party. A quiet and assured manner, with the absence 
of all airs and graces, gained us ready admittance. 
The men fully understanding that we came to talk 
with them as one fellow-citizen with another, received 
us in a frank and friendly spirit. It is wonderful 
to see how well we all get on together in these United 
States, when we meet on this common ground ! 

Our visits were usually brief. We did not stop to 
argue long, leaving behind us literature and postal 
cards where the voters were absent. The replies sent 
on these were, with one or two exceptions, brief and 
formal. One man of an illogical turn of mind wrote 
that we were a lot of old maids and should stay at 
home to mend our husbands' stockings ! 

319 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

The climbing the stairs of many tenement-houses 
(voters seemed always to live on the top floor), with 
halls half -lighted in the early summer evenings, was 
rather fatiguing. There was, too, quite a little dirt 
and occasional evil smells. But the work was ex- 
tremely interesting. We set out to educate the voters, 
and in the process educated ourselves, learning a 
great deal about human nature in general and our 
neighbors of the district in particular. The dwell- 
ings, poor as they were, were much better than I had 
anticipated — probably "voters" do not live in the 
worst class of tenement-houses, leaving these to 
aliens. We went, however, to localities where, poli- 
ticians told us afterward, they were afraid to go 
themselves. 

We were almost always received with courtesy and 
listened to with respect. We had some amusing ex- 
periences. One friend, a middle-aged man slightly 
the worse for drink, tried to explain to us the resi- 
dence of his sons, the family arrangements being 
rather complicated. Every now and then he would 
turn to his good wife and ask her to explain. She 
stood there, quiet and dignified, yet evidently morti- 
fied at her husband's condition ! 

Some ladies living in our own apartment-house 
were amused by our visit. We could hear them after- 
ward describing over the telephone, amid peals of 
laughter, the call of the suffragettes! 

The working-people, both men and women, under- 
stood the matter. Those 'whose wives and daughters 
are as much in the struggle for life as themselves 
do not take the "pedestal" view of the sex. The 

320 



'WANDER-YEARS'' 

fathers, especially, were quick to see the benefit the 
possession of a vote would bring their girls. 

One of my pleasantest visits was to a young 
Hebrew physician and her family. They were of the 
intellectual type of their race, while Doctor her- 
self was of noble spirit. 

When we remember how the glad tidings of the 
Christian religion were first spread by sermons in the 
open air, when we call to mind Peter the Hermit and 
John Wesley, we see that the soap-box is only 
a modern representative of a very ancient institu- 
tion. 

"Soap-box" is only a generic name nowadays. 
During our 191 5 campaign in New York City, we 
used automobiles, or, failing these, borrowed a chair 
from a neighboring shop. 

Perched on this, with our banner of the Twelfth 
Assembly District waving near by, and with one or 
two members on hand to distribute literature, collect 
signatures, and pass the hat, we addressed the public. 
Permission was obtained beforehand from the police, 
and an officer was sent to look out for us in case of 
possible trouble. 

Valiant little Corporal Klatschkin did receive a 
douche of cold water from a neighboring window, but 
the rest of us had no trouble. The fact of her He- 
brew blood, and some incautious criticisms, were re- 
sponsible for the amenities extended to her. 

The literally pressing interest of the children on 
the East Side was flattering, but inconvenient. They 
would pack themselves so closely around the speaker, 
many of them little tots who could hardly understand 

321 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

anything of the address, that we were often obHged 
to ask for more room. But we, the suffragists, were 
the show of the hour, and those babies were deter- 
mined to lose no moment of it. Indeed, they were 
sometimes extended in such a wide circle around us as 
to place the grown-ups at an inconvenient distance 
for our voices to reach. From Tompkins Square the 
boys escorted us and our banner in such a solid pha- 
lanx, one evening, as to make it difficult to get on the 
trolley. We were sometimes applauded, the majority 
of the crowd being "with us." The obligations of 
hospitality were not so personal as during our domi- 
ciliary visits, but we were well received. In the for- 
eign neighborhoods where we spoke our audiences 
were especially quiet, though it is doubtful whether 
they understood much of the speeches. 

In the course of our campaign work people related 
their woes to us or asked us to help them get a job. 
We were recognized as friends of the people. One 
man had much to say about the iniquity of the women 
who watched the street workers and reported ab- 
sences, thereby causing a person to lose his job, 
"when very likely he was somewhere else." I thought 
it probable that he was. 

We spoke indoors as well as out, notably at the 
Memorial Building of St. George's Episcopal Church, 
where we held a debate with the "antis." Even the 
Tammany chieftains consented to listen to us in the 
room of the Anawanda Club. Here we were so for- 
tunate as to secure the help of Mrs. Margaret Chanler 
Aldrich, a favorite great-niece of my mother's. They 
had worked together in the Association for the Ad- 

322 



'WANDER-YEARS'' 

vancement of Women. Mrs. Aldrich, the treasurer 
of the New York City Woman Suffrage party, is an 
ardent suffragist. She is also strong in the Demo- 
cratic faith, as becomes the daughter of Mr. Winthrop 
Chanler. She produced an excellent effect by re- 
minding her hearers that her father had represented 
this very district in Congress ! I prudently refrained 
from mentioning my own poHtical faith. 

To hunt the elusive politician to his lair, ascertain 
his views, and, if possible, enlist him to our side, was 
a part of our duties. It was so difficult to do this that 
we sometimes interviewed him over the telephone. 
Wherever possible, we arrived as a delegation at his 
office. The appointment once made, we found it well 
to have plenty of time at our disposal, for the poli- 
tician may desire to do the talking himself. Then you 
listen patiently while he tells you his views, or what 
he wants you to think are his views. I, a black Re- 
publican born and bred, have barkened, with outward 
resignation, to a panegyric on the benevolence of 
Tammany Hall. One man talked to us for half an 
hour or more, explaining his chivalrous feelings to- 
ward women. Incidentally he told us of one of our 
sex who received a salary of three thousand dollars. 
Whenever he saw her he thought of some man who 
might have had the job. The chivalry of this point 
of view was not clear to us. 

Our reception was always courteous, sometimes 
encouraging and sometimes not. We were glad to 
know the real opinions of the men, even if these were 
unfavorable. The ignorance in high places about 
woman suffrage is surprising. People will talk to 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

you about the dangers of the ignorant vote, and in the 
same breath will make statements showing great ig- 
norance not only of what the ballot in the hands of 
women has accomplished, but of human nature itself. 
I suspect this ignorance among politicians is wilful. 

Our activities increased as November drew nearer, 
coming to a climax on Election Day. The Legislature 
had granted us permission to have a watcher at 
each polling-place then and on the preceding registra- 
tion days. The same leave was given to the "antis," 
at their request, but they failed to attend. If they 
had not demanded the place, we should perhaps have 
been allowed to fill it. To be the only woman at a 
polling-booth was a little trying. But we knew that 
we were fulfilling our duty as citizens, and we felt 
great confidence in American men. Since the law 
had given us a right to be at the polls, we were sure 
we should be protected. 

It was part of my duty as leader to make the round 
of the election precincts. The streets grew very dark 
and lonely before we reached the outermost edge of 
the ''gas-house" district on our tour of inspection. 
Evidently this locality, with rare altruism, gives all 
its light to others and keeps none for itself! 

Driving through the deserted streets, we remem- 
bered grim stories of this part of the city and rejoiced 
in the protection of the taxicab. The bright colors of 
our national flag cheerfully illuminated the window 
of the polling-place, reminding us of our citizenship 
in the greatest country of the world ! 

With a bearing intended to show great confidence I 
passed through the little knot of men gathered at the 

324 



'WANDER-YEARS'' 

door and entered the barber's shop. Was not one of 
my lambs clothed with due authority from the Empire 
State there as watcher? It was "up to the leader*' 
to see that all was going well with her. At the end 
of the long table farthest from the door sat Mrs. 

V . (To prevent hysterics on the part of the 

"antis" it should be said that she was a grandmother 
and that the duties of her home were attended to by 
her grown daughter.) 

"Everything going all right?" 

"Yes, indeed. I've been treated with every cour- 
tesy. Let me introduce you to the chairman of the 
board, Mr. ." 

I looked about for the filthy pool of politics, but 
could not discover any. Several men were busily 
writing in enormous books, in regular Alice in Won- 
derland style. A policeman clothed with all the maj- 
esty of the law sat at the other end of the long table. 
Several candidates for registration stood in line, 
awaiting their turn, while the man at the head of it 
struggled through the third degree. The floating 
population of New York sometimes finds difficulty 
in recalling where it lived and voted from a year ago ! 

Everything in and about the place was as quiet and 
orderly as possible. Gentlemen seemed to find it more 
convenient to smoke outside! Yet our women have 
made no objection to tobacco. 

. At another election district I found that the 
watcher in charge was on such good terms with her 
election board that they had regaled her with the 
strains of the victrola and a cup of tea ! 

On the great day itself we were "on the job" before 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

the opening of the polls at six o'clock. I started on 
my round of the twenty-one districts in the cold dusk 
of the winter morning, finding all the watchers in 
their places. We visited them a second and a third 
time in the course of the day. At only one polling- 
place had the men in charge made any trouble for us. 
There they did not want the watcher to go behind 
the bar, but as this was her undoubted right they 
eventually yielded. The day was clear, but raw and 
windy. The political atmosphere was also less balmy 
on this day of the struggle. The Tammany leaders 
were less cordial than earlier in the campaign, and on 
some faces a suspicion of a frown lurked. We were 
treated with all courtesy, however, and some of the 
gentlemen were so gallant as to help me in and out of 
the automobile. 

This was the first Election Day when women were 
given the authority to visit the polls and watch the 
count in the metropolis. We had not yet won the 
vote, but we were the advance-guard of victory! It 
was a most interesting experience and I greatly en- 
joyed it. Our Twelfth Assembly District had been 
thoroughly canvassed. Every registered voter had 
been called upon and duplicate lists of those in our 
favor had been compiled. One copy was given each 
watcher, that she might check off the names as the 
men came into the polls. The other copy was reserved 
for those who were later in the day, to "get out the 
vote." It would seem that there are always indolent 
or tardy freemen who have to be reminded of their 
privilege of casting a ballot, before the day draws to 
a close. 

3^ 



'WANDER-YEARS'' 

This duty is assigned by politicians to youths, and 
here as elsewhere we took advantage of their experi- 
ence. Election Day being a holiday, we found it dif- 
ficult to procure boys. Some made promises — then 
failed to appear. My son Henry came to the rescue 
with two squads of bright, active lads, his pupils from 
the High School of Commerce. Armed with the lists 
and led by two adult women workers, the boys started 
off in excellent spirits. The neighborhoods visited 
were much impressed. Beholding the boys and the 
decorated automobiles, they exclaimed, "Tammany 
has nothing on the Woman Suffrage party." Tam- 
many Hall and the home of "Charlie" Murphy are 
both in the Twelfth Assembly District. 

Our watchers stuck faithfully to their posts until 
the count was completed — their long day's work hav- 
ing extended from six in the morning till nine, ten, 
and eleven o'clock at night. 

As they came one after another into our temporary 
headquarters and announced the result, district by 
district, it was evident that we had lost. But the 
American women had been invited to enter the sacred 
precincts of the polling-place and given authority to 
watch the returns. November 6, 191 5, was a his- 
toric day in the Empire State, marking the beginning 
of a new era. 

Among the many faithful workers in the Twelfth 
Assembly District, one who overcame difficulties in- 
superable to most women deserves special mention. 
This was Mrs. Clara Deutsch. As the wife of a 
young physician beginning practice and the mother of 
a little girl of four she had many domestic cares. She 

327 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

did her own housework, helped her husband adminis- 
ter anesthetics, and yet found time to do excellent 
service in the suffrage cause. 

"Yes, I can help on Thursday, since you need me 
badly. Mrs. , the wife of the Methodist minis- 
ter, will take care of Mary for me. She has five 
children of her own and is expecting a sixth, so one 
more makes little difference. She is a good suffragist, 
too, so by keeping Mary she also will be helping the 
cause that day." 

If more contributions were called for than she could 
well afford, Mrs. Deutsch would say, cheerfully: 
"That is all right. We'll go without dessert for a 
time." Mrs. Deutsch had been a trained nurse and 
thus had learned how to do and to plan. No matter 
at what hour I called to see her she always appeared 
at the door looking as neat as a pin. She was a hand- 
some young woman, tall and powerfully built ; strong, 
yet tender to the sick and weak. No one was more 
eminently fitted than she to carry our banner in a 
suffrage parade. 

We had college graduates and women of wealth 
among our members. Ours is a truly democratic 
cause in which riches and social position are held to 
be of secondary importance. 

Four days after the election the youngest son who 
had been my housemate for five years took unto him- 
self a bride, thus giving me a third daughter-in-law 
who was to become, like the others, very dear to me. 

It was evidently wise to allow the young couple to 
start housekeeping for themselves, hence, while they 
were still on their honeymoon, I set out on a long- 

328 



"WANDER-YEARS'' 

deferred trip to California. As I closed the door of 
our house behind me, again it seemed that a new page 
in life had been turned! 

The visit to the Pacific coast was indeed a delight- 
ful experience. I enjoyed every moment of the jour- 
ney in both directions, and of my stay under the hos- 
pitable roof of our dear cousins, Joseph and Louisa 
Mailliard. Time fails me in which to tell of the 
beauties of the International Exposition (the 'T.-P. 
I. E."), the marvels of the Grand Cafion of the 
Colorado, or the wonderful glimpse of the Pacific 
shore. The glory of that matchless surf, as the long 
line of distant waves tossed their splendid crests be- 
neath the opaline light of an afternoon sun covered 
with soft gray clouds, was a thing never to be for- 
gotten. 

In 19 1 6 I was invited to come to Newport to as- 
sist my sister, Mrs. Maud Howe Elliott, president of 
the Newport County Woman Suffrage League, dur- 
ing the summer. She had greatly increased its mem- 
bership and broadened its activities, but was, at the 
moment, heavily burdened with other matters of 
importance. Hence I was appointed executive sec- 
retary and put in charge of the work of the 
society. 

My recent experience in New York enabled me to 
organize this along the lines so admirably laid out by 
the Woman Suffrage party of that city. Especial em- 
phasis was laid on canvassing, which politicians con- 
sider of great importance. In preaching a new cause 
like ours, it is indispensable, for we are obliged not 
only to round up the members of a party as the Repub- 

329 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

licans and Democrats do, but to explain its doctrines 
and increase its membership. 

The women at Newport were more timid about can- 
vassing than their New York sisters. The summer 
capital is a very conservative place, and the ques- 
tion, *'What will my friends and acquaintances say?" 
is more vital than in a big city where no one knows 
and few care what their neighbors do. 

A corps of good workers was finally enlisted. Our 
canvassing luncheons proved a decided success, es- 
pecially where the hostess possessed an attractive 
villa and garden. Our calls were made, for the most 
part, on persons of moderate means. Few of the rich 
people have their permanent residence in Newport, 
hence do not vote there. It is also easier to canvass 
among the former, because no supercilious flunky, 
anxious to guard his mistress from unwelcome vis- 
itors, comes to the door. It is opened, instead, by the 
voter's wife, with whom one can at once establish 
pleasant relations, unless the baby is crying. In that 
case it is kinder not to detain her. 

Friends often lent us their automobiles, the dis- 
tances being much greater than in our densely inhab- 
ited district in New York. Instead of high tenement- 
buildings we found two-story wooden houses where 
our chats took place at the open doorway. Alto- 
gether it was pleasant work, chiefly among women, 
the men being usually absent from home. We as- 
sured them that the possession of the franchise did 
not necessitate deserting the home, and explained its 
advantages. It is strange that, after nearly seventy 
years of agitation, the question of woman suffrage 

330 



'WANDER-YEARS'' 

should still be considered so mysterious ! We found 
most of our hearers open to conviction where their 
opinions were not already favorable to us. Many 
names were secured for our yellow (favorable) slips, 
and only a few for the white (undecided) ; still fewer 
for the blue (opposed). 

Our labor was repaid a hundredfold by the victory 
of our cause a few months later. For our formidable 
list of persons favorable to suffrage was copied on a 
catalogue of imposing proportions and presented to 
the Rhode Island Legislature. It was one of the 
arguments which persuaded them to grant the presi- 
dential franchise to the women of the state in 191 7. 
In New York, while our stirring campaign of 191 5 
met temporary defeat, it paved the way for the great 
victory of November, 191 7, when the women of the 
Empire State won full citizenship. 



XXIII 

UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH GENERATION 

My Mother's Beautiful Old Age. — How It Feels to Be an An- 
cestor. — Grandmotherhood in the Twentieth Century. — ' 
Keeping Alive the Sacred Fires of Noble Tradition. — Hand- 
ing on the Lighted Torch. 

IT has often seemed to me that my mother's Hfe 
was Hke that of the century-plant — increasing in 
beauty as time went on. The last flowering, the 
loveliest of all, came when she was well over four- 
score years of age. Is not this the normal course of 
a well-spent life? The fruit reaches its full beauty 
when ready to drop from the tree. The colors of the 
sunset splendidly crown a perfect day. 

In those last years she seemed to us like a lovely 
saint whose faults had all been burned away by the 
fires of life, leaving only the ethereal spirit behind. 
Yet she was by no means entirely absorbed in religious 
meditation. This was an important part of her ex- 
istence, but she also enjoyed the things of this world 
and was often full of fun and gaiety. 

For all who knew her, and for all, I hope, who have 
read the story of her life, she has robbed old age of 
half its terrors. She met it bravely, smilingly, wisely, 
submitting with good grace to certain inevitable re- 
strictions. Thus while she never gave up walking so 
far as her strength permitted, since more fresh air 

332 



THIRD AND FOURTH GENERATION 

was desirable, she accepted the wheeled chair for ad- 
ditional exercise. To other limitations she would not 
submit. She would attend meetings, public and pri- 
vate; she would make the addresses which were so 
much prized by her audience; in a word, she would 
continue the intellectual and social intercourse with 
her fellow-men and women which was to her liter- 
ally the breath of life. For their love and sympathy, 
their interest in her words, were to her a veritable 
elixir. The feeling that she still had a message which 
the world wished to hear helped to keep her alive. 
The veteran who believes that "he lags superfluous 
on the stage" is not likely to survive long. 

When she attended the biennial of the General 
Federation of Women's Clubs in Boston, in 1908, I 
was her companion, as on many earlier club occasions. 
She confessed afterward that she had feared the de- 
livery of her speech in the vast auditorium of Sym- 
phony Hall might kill her, but this did not deter her 
from reading it ! In the last summer of her life we 
attended a suffrage meeting in Bristol Ferry at the 
house of Miss Cora Mitchell, founder and president of 
the Newport County Suffrage League. Here she 
told the ladies of her work for peace, begun shortly 
after the Franco-Prussian War. It should be said 
that, despite her interest in German philosophy, her 
sympathies in that conflict were entirely with the 
French, whom she felt to be the victims of German 
aggression. It was the wholly unnecessary nature of 
the conflict which made the author of the "Battle 
Hymn" call in the early 'seventies a Peace Congress, 
of Women to protest against future wars of the sort, 
22 333 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

In her correspondence we find that she met with no 
encouragement from the women of Germany. 

Her visit to Smith College, where the degree of 
Doctor of Laws was conferred upon her, shortly be- 
fore her death, has been described in her Life. The 
story of the awarding to her of the degree of LL.D. 
at Tufts College has a special interest because it was 
the first, and because in her speech she made a pro- 
test against Turkish cruelty, thus carrying on the 
work begun by her husband on the shores of Greece 
eighty years before ! Her grandson, Dr. Henry Mar- 
ion Hall, who accompanied her, has thus described 
the occasion : 

Professor Evans, of the department of history, drove Grand- 
mother and me from No. 241 Beacon Street to the college, 
where we remained in his rooms for a short while until Grand- 
mother felt rested. Then we walked across the campus, which 
was bright with the colors seen only in coeducational institu- 
tions. Mrs. Howe joined the academic procession just before 
it entered the hall, and all at once she and I found ourselves 
on a platform, surrounded by men in caps and gowns, the in- 
structors and those about to receive degrees. Grandmother 
was the only womanf on the platform, and everybody in the 
audience seemed particularly interested in her. In spite of her 
great age I recall that there was something quite simple and 
almost childlike in her expression — absolutely different from 
the self-consciousness peculiar to most people under similar 
circumstances. When she rose to receive her degree there was 
a remarkable hush, such a hush as I have seldom known of with 
so many people in a large room. (The hood was put about her 
shoulders by the president. Doctor Chapin, and she flushed with 
pleasure at the burst of applause. 

At the dinner which followed the exercises she sat with the 
guests of honor, among whom was Mr. Moody, Secretary of 
the Navy. When Mrs. Howe arose to speak she took occasion 
to express the hope that the Secretary might indicate whether 

334 



THIRD AND FOURTH GENERATION 

or not the government of the United States was going to exert 
its influence to mitigate the horrors of the Armenian atrocities, 
for the Turks were then carrying on systematic massacres. 
Mr. Moody spoke next, and gave a fine oration, but said that 
circumstances prevented him from indicating the policy of his 
government at that time. He deprecated, of course, the vil- 
lainous behavior of the Turks. Grandmother was delighted to 
receive the degree, and we drove back to Boston with Professor 
Evans, Grandmother still wearing the hood and holding the 
sheepskin in her hands. 

This grandson, Henry Marion Hall, received, a 
few years later, the degrees of M.A. and Ph.D. from 
Columbia University. To our great delight, his the- 
sis, 'The Idylls of Fishermen," was warmly praised 
by the critics. 

She was as pleased as a young girl to hear that 
we were * 'going to give a party" during that last sum- 
mer. "Flossy shall do my hair !" she gaily exclaimed. 
*The party" was only a small frolic for the Hall 
grandchildren and their young friends, with a few 
elders to play cards with her. No one enjoyed the 
occasion more than she did. 

We still continued our duets on the piano, playing 
airs from ''II Pirata" and other old operas which she 
loved, as well as Handel's quaint arias. Her fingers, 
which never lost their flexibility, played in these last 
years for her great-grandchildren to dance, as she had 
played for children and grandchildren. 

An article published that autumn in the press, de- 
claring that protestantism was on the decline, troubled 
her. She desired to make some reply, not in a con- 
troversial spirit, however. Her interest in religion 
was too broad to be confined to any sect. We were 

335 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

glad to have her preach whenever invited to do so, 
provided her strength permitted, but unreasonable 
requests were sometimes made. Thus when the zeal- 
ous pastor of a negro church invited us, in the course 
of an afternoon call, to go down on our knees in 
prayer, I protested successfully. If he had not car- 
ried a large umbrella in his hand I might have yielded. 
But how impossible would have been any approach to 
solemnity in the presence of that most unecclesiastical 
object ! 

The memorial exercises after her death were held 
in Symphony Hall. Tickets had been issued to per- 
sons having a special claim to be present, but as soon 
as the doors were opened the great public, who also 
loved her, would not be denied admittance. They 
surged in, tickets or no tickets, and took possession 
of the great auditorium. The varied nature of the 
program corresponded with, her diversified talents. A 
hunting-chorus of her own composition was sung by 
the blind pupils of the Institution founded by her 
husband. Many were the beautiful tributes paid to 
her by men and women of national reputation. None, 
however, equaled in heartfelt eloquence the speech of 
Lewis, the distinguished negro lawyer, as he poured 
out the gratitude of his race to the woman who 
had written the "Battle Hymn of the Repub- 
lic." I suddenly realized what the words meant to 
the colored people. The appeal, "Let us die to make 
men free," was for all men and for all time, yet in a 
special sense it was meant for the despised slave for 
whose freedom the soldiers of the Union laid down 
their lives in those dark days of the 'sixties. 

336 



THIRD AND FOURTH GENERATION 

Sister Laura and I were already rejoicing in several 
grandchildren while our mother was still with us. 
People sometimes feel sorry for the grandmothers 
whom they see in the streets in charge of little chil- 
dren. The first impulse is to exclaim, "That old 
woman has earned a right to rest. It is too bad she 
should still be burdened with the care of babies." 

The second and saner impulse is to rejoice that she 
still has strength for the day's work. Our civiliza- 
tion should be so ordered that a well-spent life may 
bring a certain degree of freedom toward its close. 
But to have no responsibilities, to be an idle and friv- 
olous elderly woman, would be a sad fate. 

No one need sink into it if she has grandchildren, 
the loveliest of all flowers, who bloom in the evening 
of life. If she has grandchildren of assorted ages 
she is especially fortunate, for she can then enjoy the 
various stages of babyhood and childhood at the 
same time. 

Life is full of pleasant surprises. Our sons and 
daughters grow to maturity so gradually that we fail 
to realize the change from their childhood's days. 
They are still boys and girls to us when they are so 
absurd as to suppose themselves men and women! 
They marry, and on some fine day present us with a 
grandchild ! Then we suddenly realize that we are 
again to have the delightful experience — almost for- 
gotten — of growing up with a baby. 

On our journey through life we have been disap- 
pointed in meeting many people who did not come up 
to our ideals. We are weary of the petty ambitions, 
the injustice of the world — of everybody's faults, 

337 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

our own included. In the twinkling of an eye we are 
transported back into the lovely child-garden, where 
faith, love, and hope bloom ! Little hands cling trust- 
ingly to us, a little cheek is laid against ours, eyes 
like stars smile up at us ! There is a new heaven and 
a new earth ! 

The bond between age and childhood is known of 
all men. Are not the glory of the sunrise and that 
of the sunset one and the same? The child rejoices 
in the beautiful and wonderful things he sees all 
about him — in birds, beasts, and flowers, the blue sky 
and the trees of the forest. The woman declining 
into the vale of years has long known these things, 
but in the light of the sunset they become transfigured 
and glorified. With the little child she learns again 
lessons half forgotten; together they enjoy the true 
pleasures of life — the simple, every-day things that 
we forget to be thankful for during the years when 
we are busily hunting for the pot of gold at the end 
of the rainbow. 

So the child and its grandame walk together for 
a while, until their paths separate. The little one 
goes forward with eager feet into the great battle 
of life, the grandmother advances with tranquil step 
to meet the shadows. The coming into this world of 
the child has strengthened her faith, as its companion- 
ship has strengthened her love. 

It came, she knows not whence, "trailing clouds of 
glory." Will not the morning of a new and splendid 
day break for her, also, in a new world? 

We enjoy our grandchildren all the more, in the 
twentieth century, because we have other cares and 

338 



THIRD AND FOURTH GENERATION 

responsibilities besides those of the family and house- 
hold. Hence we cannot be selfishly absorbed in our 
own small circle. Our duties have multiplied since 
the great war began to call the young men and women 
more and more into service. 

We elders now have a new incentive to work with 
all our strength while it is yet day for us. This sum- 
mer I visited Camp Merryweather, where sister 
Laura aids her husband in conducting a delightful 
place of sojourn for forty boys. Of the sons whose 
help they have had in former years one had gone as 
a soldier to France, the other and the sons-in-law were 
attending drill and caring for war gardens. Upon 
the older generation came the care and responsibility 
of the summer's work and play. Never have I seen 
them more resolute and courageous! No word was 
said of added duties, but in their manner one could 
see a determination to do their bit and to do it val- 
iantly! Sister Laura's relaxation will be to go on a 
"grandmothering tour" to see her dozen grandchil- 
dren. 

In this twentieth century, and especially in war- 
time, the public and private duties of women some- 
times conflict. We want very, very much to go to 
some inspiring meeting on a day when we are needed 
at home. It is best to give the latter the benefit of the 
doubt, when we feel any. Yet we must sometimes 
go forth to gain inspiration, in order to give it out 
again. The woman who stays always at home from 
a mistaken sense of duty is in danger of becoming a 
dull drudge. The mother of sons and daughters must, 
in these stirring times, teach them to have the love 

339 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

of freedom, the public spirit, necessary for the sal- 
vation of our Republic. 

She must take her share, too, in labors for the 
welfare of our native land and for the comfort and 
protection of its brave defenders. If we fail to do 
our part it may happen that no homes will be left us 
to care for! 

We return to them from work for the Red Cross 
or other civic service, with renewed delight in chil- 
dren and grandchildren, with renewed ability to min-' 
ister to their welfare, both spiritual and material ! 

It is delightful to be able to help the boys and girls 
with those dreadful mathematical problems and witti 
the Latin authors, who in a world turned topsy-turvy, 
remain always the same. 

To give my little granddaughters lessons upon the 
piano has been my great pleasure. 

Countless women are now called upon to make the 
supreme sacrifice, to give up the sons and daughters 
dearer to them than life, to the dreadful Minotaur 
who devours hecatombs of youths and maidens. It 
is the duty of every mother to prepare herself for 
that ordeal, so that she may not hesitate to send her 
best-beloved, if the summons comes to her, as it has 
come to thousands. 

Terrible as are these years, their darkness is bright- 
ened by the light of a self-sacrifice unparalleled in the 
history of mankind. We could not bear the thought 
of those hideous trenches and of the awful destruc- 
tion of human life, if they had not shown us such 
splendid examples of courage, devotion, self-immola- 
tion. These are wonderful days to live in, despite all 

340 



THIRD AND FOURTH GENERATION 

the horrors of the time. The young men going for- 
ward so bravely into the mouth of hell, dying in de- 
fense of their ideals and ours, seem to us like a conse- 
crated army, like beings set apart from their fellow- 
men. We have talked about freedom ; we have been 
full of enthusiasm. But they have gone quietly for- 
ward, to suffer tortures and, if need be, to lay down 
their lives. They are the heroes of the hour, beside 
whom the rest of the world seem suddenly to have 
shrunken into nothingness. 

Yet we must not forget that America, like England, 
expects every man, civilian as well as soldier, to do 
his duty, and every woman likewise. The power of 
a democracy is built up of the strength of each indi- 
vidual life. Let us give our brave soldiers their full 
meed of admiration, let us support and uphold them 
in every possible way. But we must not be so dazzled 
by their gallant deeds as to worship, like Germany, a 
military autocracy. It is our duty to remember, and 
to help them to remember, that among civilized na- 
tions war is temporary and abnormal, while peace is 
normal and eternal. The first means destruction, the 
last means construction. In the midst of peace we 
must prepare for war, that haply we may avert it. 
In the midst of war we have the double duty of up- 
holding our armies to the utmost extent of our abil- 
ity and at the same time making ready for the right- 
eous peace which we know must come. We must bind 
up the wounds of the warriors and restore the devas- 
tated lands. We must prepare to return, when the 
right time comes, to quiet, every-day life. We shall 
still wage war, not against the bodies of men, but 

341 



MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY 

against ignorance, greed, corruption, evil of all kinds. 
For Satan, whom before the great European convul- 
sion we hopefully thought to be dead, is evidently very 
much alive. At each new atrocity we have seemed to 
hear the wings of Apollyon, Prince of Darkness, rust- 
ling in the air, as he dealt foul blows at the struggling 
Christian. 

We have had a horrible glimpse of hell ! The sight 
must convince us that the devoted labor of every one 
of us is needed to prevent the overthrow of the ideals 
of civilization! The hideous doctrine that might 
makes right, that crafty murder, "leaving no trace 
behind," treacherous intrigue and shameless lying, 
are the proper occupation for "gentlemen" must be 
combated not by arms alone, but by the upholding of 
the high ideals of our own country. The memory of 
heroic deeds, of noble sayings, is the most precious 
inheritance of mankind. We who are now living 
have been inspired by it, we have held our course 
guided by its light, however much we may have 
stumbled on the way and fallen short of our ideals. 

The sacred fires of noble tradition must not per- 
ish. To pass on to our descendants the lighted torch 
received from our predecessors, glowing ever brighter 
with the fervor inspired by the heroic deeds of the 
present hour, is for us an imperative duty and a splen- 
did privilege. 



THE END 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

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Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 
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